Mega Man X: Trinity Helix
by Revokov
Summary: Episode 5: Two Towers-Two missions begin at once, dividing Hunter ranks while Kou Cao's agents set up some deadly surprises.
1. Foreword

**Foreword**

Despite some reservations I'm going to go ahead and try another fanfic that, as your eyes have doubtless reported to you already, is called _Trinity Helix_. I'm still trying to find the right mood for the story, so a bit of experimentation will go on, but hey, that's half the fun. Right now look for a fairly serious tale that will move a helluva lot faster than its predecessor.

You _DO NOT_ have to have read Terrornova to read Trinity Helix. TH is indeed a continuation of TN, but all the background info you'll need to fully appreciate the characters in this story will be provided.

Two years have passed since the ruckus in New York and the Maverick Hunters are now established in a new base and in a whole new role. Together with the world's authorities they seek one man, Kou Cao, the leader of a shadowy and far-reaching criminal organization. Kou Cao has already demonstrated his willingness to go to any lengths to succeed in his power-hungry schemes, but now he unfolds a plan that if successful will make the nuclear fire of the Seraph Uprising seem like a mere flicker.

For there is another power on the rise…the power of war. Nestled in the comfortable darkness, the self-proclaimed War God prepares to unravel world order down to its very core. With his army of upgraded Reploid warmongers, Ares Armada forms an alliance with the criminal genius Kou Cao. Their objectives are similar, and their power is great.

There is a union now between the two towers…eh, whoops…there is a union now between the enemies of the free world. If the Reploid race—and the world itself—wishes to remain free, all must unite, or all will fall. One by one the Reaper's scythe comes for the Hunters, leaving the uncertainty of impending death forever in the air. Who shall live, and who shall die?

Mega Man X, champion of freedom and desirer of personal truth. Zero, the reformed warrior who fights now only to save others. Vulcan, an uncertain youth about to take the most fateful steps down his personal road of life. Damia, the cunning guerilla who must triumph over nightmares beyond comprehension. Alec Tremont, king of the air, who finds himself the only stitch holding together a world of confusion.

Five heroes in a world where heroism merits death by unseen hands must stand against chaos embodied. If they fail all may be lost, and even if they succeed how grisly will the cost be? All will be answered, in a story that believe it or not will not be fifty chapters long like the last monster.

And with that bit of melodrama I give you: Trinity Helix! I'm open to suggestions and would love criticism, as I'm never really exactly sure what I'm going to go with as far as mood and plot.

--Rev


	2. Moonless

**Prologue: Moonless**

_From: Ultimus_

_To: Scorpio, Sphinx, Mantos_

_Targets confirmed and approved. Execute Harvest8. Take the mice alive. Kill all others. Be gone before reinforcements arrive. Rendezvous at Beta._

_And Scorpio…behave yourself._

***

**Rathlin Island**

**Off Coast of Northern Ireland**

            Captain Brian Wolcott loved cigarettes more than he loved his own mother. That, at least, was what his men liked to say when their fearless leader's back was turned. For his part Wolcott allowed them their barb, since he didn't do much to prove them wrong. Even now he had a cancer stick lodged between his teeth, expelling coils of wispy smoke from his lips and nostrils like some fairy tale dragon. That was worth a snort. He didn't exactly cut a dragon's figure. At 5'8, 180 pounds and a face full of hair, however, Wolcott did present the impression of a grizzly bear waiting to pounce, an image he'd had the displeasure of strengthening when he'd gone toe-to-toe against a berserker with a rocket propelled grenade. Wolcott's superiors had given him a nifty medal for that one, and a promotion to boot. The British Navy still placed great focus on its officer candidates, even in this era of relative peace.

            That was again worth a snort. There was peace in the sense that there were no wars being fought between nations, but there was a neck-and-neck battle going on between species that Wolcott had been unable to avoid, even though he mostly sat on a boat for the duration of his watch. Coast Patrol was not his idea of a thrilling job, but after seeing "thrilling" firsthand he was always willing to admit—albeit never publicly—that investigating crooks and handing out speeding tickets to the seafaring traffic made things a lot easier for Margaret and the kids, not having to worry if Daddy got blown up today.

            But that didn't make it any less boring. Wolcott exhaled a particularly substantial gust of dragon breath and scanned the foredeck of the _Resolute_. At least he had a bitchin' boat, the captain thought with a smirk, even if he did have to share it. _Resolute _was a small gunship, one of the new class the Megacity Army had fashioned for its British sector. Other naval units jeeringly referred to them as "Sprites" but Wolcott was more than pleased with the vessel's speed and maneuverability. He was riding, in simplest terms, a speedboat with cannons.

            They weren't speeding now, though, and that was why Wolcott needed the cigarette. It calmed his frayed nerves, making him more able to concentrate on the matter at hand rather than the boredom that clutched at his soul with blunt, dull claws. The current Matter At Hand looked to be about as routine as was possible, but it was still a big deal to somebody—probably one of the Dublin cops. IRA had more or less laid down its arms over the years in lieu of the greater Maverick evil, but there were still fanatics rooted in the North who waited for a lull in the never-ending Hunter-Maverick sitcom to resume their holy quest. 

…Which brought Wolcott here, near Rathlin Island, to investigate a private vessel belonging to a fellow whom Command was quite sure was up to naughty deeds. They'd tracked this boat once before, but they'd let the operator go after finding nothing overly nasty aboard, unless you regarded hording _Playboys _a terrorist act. Now, however, the ship had gone silent in the water, and Command wanted to know what was up. Wolcott was pretty sure he already knew. These things usually boiled down to drug busts, weapons smugglers, or on the upside, simple parties that no one was supposed to know about. The sailors were fully armed anyway, which for Wolcott was quite a comfort. You just never knew when a Maverick was going to pop up anymore.

            _Resolute_'s co-captain barked a bearing and moved to join Wolcott near the front of the ship. If anyone on the gunship was a dragon, it was this man. James Reardon even had the flaming red hair. His barrel-chest and powerful physique had never been put to the test in an overly dangerous way, but Wolcott neither grudged him that nor wished otherwise for him. Jimmy Reardon had proven his mettle in many a way since Wolcott first met the man, and thus he didn't have a problem sharing control of the ship with him. But he did think the idea of co-captains had been a colossal fuckup by the administrative end of Coast Patrol, even if it was just meant as a stepping-stone on the way to individual command.

            "'Night's as black as new charcoal," Captain Reardon observed, yawning unabashedly and fixing his green eyes on the dark sky. "I'll wager me' boots ye can't find a lick o' moonlight up there."

            Wolcott had to smile. Reardon was as Irish as he was English. "Your boots are yours to keep, Jimmy. Believe in omens?"

            "Eh, not so much as ta let 'em scare me." Reardon's voice was as big as he was, even when he was trying to keep his voice down. "But most of the horror stories either start out with full moons or no moons."

            "Shall I inform the lads we'll be fighting the Headless Horseman, then?"

            "Not unless he's learned how to ride a Ski Doo." Both men smiled at that image. At that moment a third party approached, an odd-looking fellow even to those who were used to him. It was, after all, not every day that you saw a walking fish. Try as developers might, there was as of yet no foolproof way to make a fish Reploid look menacing, though this one came very, very close. He was modeled after a lionfish, the poisonous, barbed monsters that patrolled reefs. Black and gold stripes crisscrossed his scaled form, and long blades protruded from his back. Every barb could be drawn and used in battle as a spear when the Reploid wished, and every spear was tipped with a corrosive acid that did to Reploids what the organic lionfish's sting did to humans. His armor was done in a tiger's-eye fashion, completing the image of a Reploid that you knew could and would kick your ass, even if he _was _a walking fish.

            "Spartan," Captain Reardon grinned, reminding himself not to slap his comrade on the back. "How're the minnows doin'?"

            "They're doing their part," Spartan Lionfish replied in a quiet voice with a slight accent. It was even hard for Reardon and Wolcott to decide if the fish was British or Irish in make. "They may be rookies, sir, but they're going places."

            "If you didn't say that about everyone," Wolcott observed, dropping a trail of glowing embers from the end of his cigarette into the black waters below, "I might make a note of it."

            "Always look on the bright side," Spartan said with a half-smile. "Anything special about tonight's catch?"

            "Chap fell asleep at the wheel, probably," Wolcott responded with a shrug. "Routine drifter."

            Reardon chuckled. "'Ain't nothin' routine about a drifter, Brian." A "drifter" was what they called a vessel that didn't seem to be under anyone's control. It was more serious than just a stalled boat, since people could always call or radio the shore for help in that case. Drifters had no ingoing or outgoing communications, and usually were either abandoned or worse. Both Wolcott and Reardon had boarded drifters full of dead bodies at one point in their careers. One such case still had yet to be closed.

            Spartan turned his own attention to the seas. He was a diver, as were two of the others on _Resolute_. Bodies and/or evidence were frequently found under the seas beneath the drifters, and it was up to people like Spartan to make sure that evidence was found. In fact this job was more of a hobby for Spartan, who had served in the Navy's undersea combat unit during several Maverick uprisings over a period of eight years. This was more or less his "retirement". But he could think of worse things to be doing, and the Navy still kept asking him to come back. Spartan had been the star of the undersea soldiers, and he was still legendary as one of the greatest swashbucklers out there, rivaled only by the likes of Launch Octopus and Bubble Crab. Spartan had a leg up on them, though—he was still alive.

            "Approaching target coordinates," the helmsman announced, and the captains immediately returned to their positions. _Resolute _slowed to an almost nonexistent speed and approached their target. It wasn't exactly intended to be a stealthy approach, but rather a passive one. If there was indeed a threat onboard the target vessel, Wolcott and Reardon didn't want to frighten it into snapping off an attack. At least, not before they were ready.

            "Ready for the fun part, Jimmy?" Wolcott asked with only a slight air of sleepiness.

            "Why, Brian!" Reardon grinned, feigning offense. "I was born ready."

**Moscow, Russia**

The wine from Kasparov's was even better than usual, they both remarked as they passed through the restaurant's glass doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk. They didn't come here all that often—good food was too damned expensive, anymore—but every once in a while Haley just felt like doing something fancy, and Revenant was not one to argue. It was their first night off in weeks, and they'd opted to get as far away from the office as possible, and pizza and beers in his apartment wouldn't have done the night justice.

            It was often hard for Revenant's peers to accept that their comrade had class. He couldn't exactly blame them, either. Given what he did for a living, even he had a hard time imagining himself in a suit and tie sipping wine in an upscale restaurant just for the hell of it. It didn't embarrass him. Quite the contrary, he considered himself one of the savviest Maverick Hunters around. Haley often joked that any more thoughts like that would inflate his head to the breaking point, but she wasn't any better.

            Both Revenant and Haley worked for Anatoliy Gorov, a fine upstanding gent who'd distinguished himself enough to be named Grand Commander of the Maverick Hunter forces stationed in Moscow, and thus throughout Russia in general. But rising star though Gorov was, he shared the limelight almost constantly with Revenant, local Unit Commander, Hunter 17th. The Hunters in Tokyo had their champion in Mega Man X, but in Moscow Revenant was unrivaled. Mainly an infiltrator, the dark-haired, gray-eyed Reploid was proficient in melee and distance combat, as was his lady friend, a dazzlingly blonde Huntress who served as second-in-command of the 20th Unit. But where Haley was straight infantry, Revenant was a jack-of-all-trades, and he was always quick to add a new trade to that ever-expanding list.

            For now, though, he was free, and despite the ungodly late hour he and Haley weren't about to return to his flat just yet. Instead the two finely dressed Reploids made their way towards the city's center, talking animatedly all the while. Neither was worried about being mugged—God have mercy on the man who attacked Revenant's woman—and they had a destination in mind. There was barely a soul left awake besides them, and it made for a feeling of control they both liked. It was just them. They had full dominion over all they saw. It was a pleasant thought for two Hunters who'd consumed a little too much wine to be fully alert, but still not enough to be clumsy should the need to defend themselves arise.

            Arm-in-arm they entered Rovanin Park, a small alcove where the locals relaxed during the brief breaks in their routine lives. The park was deserted now save for chittering squirrels and, on one tree, an owl. Revenant grinned at the sight. He'd always found owls to be fascinating creatures, if nothing else because they appealed to his sense of mystery. It always seemed like owls were looking past you, staring at something right behind you that you probably needed to see for yourself if you didn't want your day to be ruined. Revenant didn't check, though. He'd seen enough owls to be used to it by now.

            "We need more nights like this," Haley observed, sinking onto a park bench with her man at her side. Revenant snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close for a kiss. "Threaten Gorov with your resignation unless you get some more vacation days."

            "If we took vacation days, hon, the enemy would just pick those days to strike. It is a luckless business we're in," he said, falsely morose. "I'm surprised nothing's exploded tonight as it is."

            "Shh," Haley whispered, kissing him again. "Don't jinx it."

            Revenant smiled and surrendered to the moment, but before he gave Haley his undivided attention he became an owl, his gaze flickering past his lover's face to a street corner on the edge of the park. The woman there attracted his attention simply because of her presence there at this hour. She was walking at a brisk pace towards the intersection, her eyes glancing from side to side and meeting Revenant's only for the briefest of seconds. The Hunter felt a bit of unease, but he quickly dismissed the situation. She was a woman out late and looking around nervously for someone who might prey on her. Women were not shy about unleashing their wrath in this day in age, as Haley could testify, but they were still hard-pressed to defend themselves against a group of thugs who held onto outdated stereotypes. Well, that was what people like him were for, Revenant reminded himself, returning his eyes to Haley's.

            As she crossed the street, her back to the park, the woman couldn't fight the smile that grew on her face. She'd just made positive identification of her target and soon, she knew, the fun could begin. Except that Ultimus had told her to behave… Well, she allowed, smiling all the more as she started down a new stretch of sidewalk, "behave" could have a lot of different meanings, couldn't it?

            It was a yacht, but not a simple yacht. It was what Wolcott liked to call a "rich bitch", the kind of monstrosity that only someone like a drug lord could find attractive. These things were meant for the sole purpose of showing off, and in Wolcott's mind that ruled out terrorists—they were too smart for that nowadays—and most criminals. He'd occasionally gotten lucky with small fish in big boats, but none of what Command called the big fish would be stupid enough to do anything illegal in a boat that stood out as this one did. The Serpent was too well organized for that.

            "We are the United Kingdom Coast Patrol," he said via megaphone, his voice cutting through the heavy quiet of the night. "All passengers are ordered to move on deck."

            "Definitely a drifter," Spartan opined, leaning right over the water as though he could see down into it. In fact, he could, to a certain degree.

            "Don't count your chickens so soon, lad," Reardon cautioned. Behind him a team of five armed men lowered a raft onto the black sea. It clapped hard against the waves, spraying _Resolute_'s armored hull with saltwater. "Might be some sleepers inside who just haven't woken themselves up yet."

            "A boarding party should do that trick really bloody well," Wolcott said in way of caution. It was all he planned to offer for the night. Reardon, after all, knew what he was doing.

            Then there came a sound like a flitting hummingbird, zooming in from the direction of the target vessel. Reardon quickly barked an order and the gunners stood ready, but there wasn't anything like a target. The sound grew louder, and then they saw it, a flying drone about half Wolcott's size that seemed to modeled after a bird of some kind. Wolcott took a closer look at the lengthy neck and the wings, but it was Spartan who beat him to the punch. "A vulture."

            "Small ass vulture," Wolcott frowned.

            "I think I like 'em better that way, Brian," Reardon said, as the vulture shot past them, fleeing in the direction _Resolute _had just come from. "And I'm thinkin' I'd like ta get on board that there tub to see what purpose a scavenger bird has in these parts."

            "I'll keep the ship on alert," Wolcott promised, raising a pair of binoculars to search the black horizon for their flying friend. He predictably had no luck, thanks to the bloody moon…or lack thereof. Slightly uneasy, he lit himself another cigarette and told himself to calm down. This was just another mission, and even if something went wrong reinforcements were just a call away, and it wasn't like _Resolute _couldn't defend itself. "Vessel _Sea King_," Wolcott said through the megaphone, reading the boat's ID information. "We are boarding you."

            That took all of about five minutes. Reardon and his team of five secured the raft and climbed aboard. Reardon drew his service pistol, while the others held their rifles pointed down. No one took chances anymore going into potentially hostile territory without serious firepower, especially if you were human, which these six were. Pistols had evolved over time, of course, but they still weren't as foolproof against an armored Maverick as a three-round burst of adaman bullets was.

            Wolcott only had to wait forty seconds before Reardon's voice came through their radio. "It's a drifter, Brian, and it's a drifter with deaders."

            "Shit." That meant paperwork. "What's it look like?"

            The hell if he was going to tell him what it looked like, Reardon thought, looking around the blood-spattered cabin. One body, that of a man in his late thirties, lay in a bed that until recently must have been white, but was now an admirable shade of red. There was a line of holes stitched down the human's body, and the burnt flesh around the sickening wounds was very telltale. "Energy weapon," Reardon thought aloud. But that wasn't it, the captain saw, turning to a different corner of the room. Blood was spattered against the wall and on the floor, and from the looks of things a body had once been laid there. It couldn't have been the man, Reardon realized, because whoever had sat here had bled out, and wouldn't have had enough left to give the bed its new crimson hue. So, that meant… "Two dead, looks like, but only one body here."

            "Search the ship?"

            "As we speak, boyo." Reardon turned from the grisly sight and left the cabin exploration to one of the rookies. "But seeing as we'd all like to save time, why don't ya have Gills do a sweep o' the sand, and see if he can't find anything."

            "Hear that, Gills?" Wolcott turned to Spartan.

            "I've been waiting all night to hear it," the lionfish replied, motioning to his two assistants. One was a diving Reploid and the other was human, but that one had already suited up into her proper gear. Neither of them were armed. Spartan was expected to cover their asses, and fighting undersea was hard going anyway, unless you happened to be a walking fish. Together they dove into the dark waters, vanishing almost instantly from Wolcott's sight. The captain didn't know what a dead body looked like, sitting underwater and waving like a cornstalk in the wind, and he hoped he'd never find out. That morbid business was up to Spartan and fools like him, he thought.

            But he had business yet to do. "CP _Resolute _to Command," he said into the radio. "Investigating murder aboard vessel _Sea King._ Looks like someone went French Revolution on the king in question." Wolcott confirmed the coordinates and requested backup. After all, you could never have too much backup. Fifteen minutes, they told him, but nothing took fifteen minutes. He figured anywhere from twenty to thirty. But there really was no sense worrying about it, he told himself, taking a good, long drag on his cigarette.

            "Everything all right up there, Brian?"

            "Just fine, Mum," Wolcott replied into the radio, shaking his head. "Sound awfully concerned there, Jimmy."

            "I am, though I'll be bloody damned to say why. This whole thing…somethin' ain't right about it."

            "Thought you didn't believe in omens."

            "It's not so much an omen as it is a sixth sense, boyo. Keep on guard up there."

            Wolcott assured him he would, and blinked up at the sky. Even the cigarette wasn't stemming his worry now. Something _was _wrong, but like Captain Reardon he'd be damned if he could put a finger on it. Well, all he could do was keep his weapons hot. If someone wanted to start a fight with _Resolute_, he mentally told the shadows, then they were more than welcome to try.

            He had no idea what he was wishing for.

            It wasn't until he'd gone four blocks from the park that Revenant realized they were being tracked.

            He saw her reflection in the glass panel of a jewelry store—young adult, athletic, dark coat, short black hair that fell a bit past her ears. All in all she was fairly unremarkable, except for the fact that she was the same woman he'd seen crossing the street fifteen minutes earlier in Rovanin Park, and now she was behind him again. There were a number of reasonable explanations, of course. For instance she could have just been taking care of some business, except she carried no bags or even a purse and most businesses were closed at this hour. She walked with her head down, looking like any other woman walking the streets at this hour would, and there was nothing overly threatening about her. But there was never anything threatening about the really dangerous ones, he reminded himself, turning a corner suddenly.

            "What…?" Haley asked as, arm in arm, she was dragged with him.

            "Just a little detour," Revenant replied, squeezing her shoulder while walking forward with no less confidence in his step. He glanced to the right when he passed another store window. She was there, turning the corner now. She was keeping her distance, he realized, because she had not been that far back when he'd rounded the corner. Either she'd stopped to pick up a quarter, or…or what? She was an enemy? It seemed awfully presumptuous on his part, but the fact was that even after years of experience it could be hard to tell a civilian from a Maverick in disguise, and if you acted on a faulty judgment and someone innocent got hurt because of it…well, that was why the better safe than sorry maxim was still in heavy use.

            "Someone's shadowing us," Revenant announced, turning down another street and starting back on the proper path towards his flat.

            "A tail?" Haley blinked and started to turn her head but Revenant stopped her. "Oh, right…"

            Revenant nodded. If she was tracking them he didn't want her to know that she'd been spotted. Better they proceeded as two tipsy Reploids to his apartment and collected themselves than give her reason to run. Because, of course, if she was dirty, Revenant wanted to have a chat with her. Bagging enemy spies was something he'd become particularly adept at.

            Sure enough the woman appeared again, this time turning away from them and heading down a block opposite the Hunters' destination. Haley glanced at her lover, knowing his expression. "We following her?"

            "Hell yes," Revenant replied. They turned, acting the part of two tired fools who'd nearly taken the wrong way home, and followed the woman down the block. The point here, Revenant knew, was to make her nervous. If she was stalking them then she'd begin to wonder if they were on to her and were moving against her, and if not…well, then they'd made a mistake and she was a harmless civilian who was heading back to her own bed or a night job somewhere. In his line of work Revenant had tracked many a rabbit—that was what they called subjects of a shadow—but never before had he himself been singled out. He'd faced many traps and dangers in the field, but the Mavericks had never been big on singling out officers for assassination. It was kind of thrilling, he admitted, and it would be all the more satisfying to turn the tables on his hunter, if she was that, and learn who had sent her and why.

            Then the woman did something that was almost too good to be true—she spun sharply and ducked down an alley.

            "Jackpot," Haley breathed, and the two of them raced into the alley without a second thought. As she moved a brilliant halo of energies coated Haley, and when it faded she was wearing a white and silver suit of battle armor. Revenant underwent a similar transformation, donning a suit of black and blue.

            "Stop!" Revenant shouted, but the woman just ran faster…faster than most humans could. It was possible she was just a talented sprinter, but she'd bugged out after two Hunters had closed in on her and that was enough for Revenant. He had enough reason to at least _question _her. And so the Hunter put to use an innate skill. His speed increased to the point where he was almost short warping, and caught up to the woman in a flash…quite literally. She snarled as he twisted her around and shoved her against a hard stone wall, but her attempts at struggling were futile. "Well hello, pretty lady."

            "Hello yourself," she snapped. "What do you want?"

            "What do _you_ want?" Haley asked coolly, stepping forward.

            "'Name's Revenant, Commander Revenant. I think you know which army." He smiled politely. "And your name is?"

            She fixed him with a curious little stare. Revenant noted the strange color of her eyes, a haunting gold that seemed to swirl around the intense pupil. It was a sight that transfixed him for a few precious moments before the woman began to speak. "So where did I screw up? I mean, before I booked it here?"  
            "Caught you in the mirror at Gartenko's," Revenant replied, feeling his spirits soar. He'd bagged one!

            "Ah, the mirror, I knew you'd watch the mirrors!" She laughed, as though a good joke had just been told. Immediately Revenant's uplifted spirits sank.

            Haley took note of this, stepping forward further. "Revenant, I think we ought to…"

            She never got the chance to finish. Their prisoner let out something that could only be considered a battle cry and surged forth with a power neither of them had ever seen coming. Her futile struggles grew much more potent and her iron limbs overpowered Revenant's as though they were made of paper, twisting her way out of the Hunter's grip and throwing him hard into his girlfriend. Revenant fell, but Haley staggered and remained upright, drawing her beam saber.

            "My only concern with you," the woman said, talking down to Revenant as though she were considering buying him from a store, "is that you're a little too predictable. I knew you'd follow me in here, if I made you think the right things." As she spoke a lycanthropic change came over her. For Haley and Revenant, donning their armor meant actually teleporting it in one burst from its storage place onto their bodies, something that any Reploid could do. For this woman, however, the teleportation had a lot more flair. The armor flowed like liquid over her body, seeping out of nowhere at all and clothing her with a jagged, elaborate suit of black that occasionally pulsated a dull, bloody red color in different areas. The armor flowed like skin up her neck and rounded into a black helmet with a red visor. Heavy, metallic domed claws covered her hands, and on her back armor flowed into the form of a long, curved scorpion's tail, complete with the most menacing bladed tip either Hunter could imagine. "You asked my name," she said, her voice enthusiastically wicked as her armor finished its teleportation. "Scorpio." Her right arm shot out and the claw opened wide, revealing twin barrels leveled directly at Haley. "Nova Scorpio."

            There was no time for Haley to do anything except scream. A crackling ring of energy was drawn into each barrel, like a gasoline explosion in reverse, and then the twin machine guns flared. Thick lasers punched into and through Haley's body as though her armor were made of cotton. They came so fast and so highly charged that it looked to Revenant, flat on his ass and unable to do anything except stare in horror, like one continual beam. Finally the deadly barrage ended, and Revenant was left to look at a few pieces of bloody flesh and scrap where his lover had once stood. The alley, also, had been wrecked by the lasers, which had punched clear through the walls of buildings after traveling through Haley.

            A killing rage flew through Revenant, and his left hand receded into his forearm to be replaced by the menacing buster cannon that had sent many a Maverick to their grave. He would do the same to this one. He launched himself forward, hyper-dashing behind his adversary and firing the charged shot point blank into her flank.

            The blast carried Nova Scorpio into a blood-spattered wall. She let out a sharp cry, as though she'd merely pricked herself on something, peeling herself away from the wall and gingerly massaging the rent part of her armor. The dull red cloud pulsated brighter throughout her suit of black, and she laughed airily at Revenant, who stood frothing with rage. "I hope that wasn't your best shot."

            Revenant tore loose again, dashing hard at Scorpio, who simply lashed out with a claw and caught the Hunter in the face. The attack tore flesh, and Revenant screamed as he staggered away, trying to collect his balance. The pain brought back a sense of mind, and he realized that this devil standing before him had withstood a point blank shot with _no damage_, no damage to _speak _of, and now she was…

            The scorpion leapt into the air, far higher than Revenant himself could ever muster, and opened the machine gun claw wide, jamming its jagged edges into the wall beside her. She hung there, smiling murderously down at Revenant, and pointed her other claw, which opened to reveal…

            The missile streaked down towards Revenant's feet, and though he'd issued the command to run early it didn't register until it was almost too late. He was thrown clear across the alley and landed hard on his left arm, jamming it badly. He swore violently, because he needed that arm to aim. Panting, he turned his head to behold the approaching attacker…and instead came face to face with Haley's severed head.

            Screaming, Revenant leapt back to his feet, and there he stood transfixed with horror, looking down at the head and up at Nova Scorpio, who approached with the same casually lethal gait. "Poor little Revenant," she said, her delivery pleasant but its reception acidic. "Couldn't save the girl…couldn't save anyone…but that's all right. This world isn't about saving lives. It's about taking them." As she walked towards him, her tail coiling gently around her torso like a living snake, the fire from the missile behind her complimenting her satanic armor, she looked to Revenant very much like an emissary from Hell.

            "The God of War has come for you, Revenant…and from war there is no escape!"

            Revenant heard the words but didn't understand them, nor did he care to try. He was facing an adversary that he clearly could not defeat. He did the only thing he could think to do.

            He ran.

            Reardon nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the vultures.

            There were two of them, perched together outside a closed door the team had yet to inspect. They were identical to the one that had visited _Resolute _earlier, totally gold in color except for beady black eyes, and with lighter colored engravings over their armored bodies that looked like Egyptian hieroglyphs. To Captain Reardon it seemed like they were guarding something, and a nod from a teammate, a seasoned patrolman named Barnes, confirmed the suspicion.

            "How's it look, lads?" Reardon said, speaking only to his teammates aboard the ship.

            "Nothin' doin' here, sir," one of their voices replied through the radio. "Not even a blood trail. Maybe our bogey carried the victim somewhere and was real neat about cleaning up after himself, but we'd have seen something by now."

            "Probably thrown overboard," Barnes suggested.

            Reardon nodded. In addition to Barnes he had one other crewman with him. The other four were patrolling this monster of a ship, but Reardon doubted he'd need more than three. Barnes was a good shot and the third one, though a rookie, had gotten decent marks in firearms training. Reardon motioned to the door, keeping a close eye on the vultures, who had trotted aside to get away from the humans. He didn't trust them.

            The door flew open courtesy of Reardon's boot, and the captain entered first, his pistol out and ready. It looked like a kitchen, and there wasn't much room to move around but the three men entered anyway, Barnes turning to keep an eye on their rear flank, just in case the damned golden turkeys decided to start something.

            Reardon, however, was far more interested in the form that lay in the corner, a drone of sleek black coloration. It looked like a resting dog, except that its ears were pointed high up at all times. Its eyes blazed red, locking onto the intruders. _A jackal,_ Reardon realized, clutching his pistol a little tighter.

            "It's guarding something," Barnes opined immediately.

            Reardon nodded agreement, stepping forward to confirm the theory. The jackal let a low growl escape its lips as it came slowly but menacingly to its feet. Reardon sighed, patching into Wolcott while the rookie kept his weapon trained on the drone. "We've got a wee bit of a complication. We'll handle it, but stay sharp anyway."

            "Always, Jimmy," Brian Wolcott replied, lazily drawing another cigarette. He only had five left, he realized, lighting it up and thinking Reardon had better hurry.

            It was then that the familiar noise of a hummingbird's wings became audible once more. Wolcott stood erect and watched the vulture return, the rapid flitting noise coming from the generator that allowed its wings to flap. It circled _Resolute _once before turning its attention to a young seaman staring at it near the spot where Wolcott, Reardon and Spartan had talked earlier. The golden bird then quite suddenly let out a chilling screech and dove straight at the cadet, who raised his weapon too late to do anything about it and fell screaming to the deck as the bird buried its razor beak in his abdomen.

            Wolcott had watched the scene in slow motion, and the second everything clicked so did his training. His pistol came out almost of its own accord and leveled itself in the target's direction as the vulture leapt off its prey, holding something bloody in its mouth. Disgusted and infuriated Wolcott nearly took a shot, but his line of fire had become obscured by other crewmen hoping to accomplish similar results.

            One did. Her rifle sang as three adaman bullets—bullets designed to punch through heavy armor—impacted the vulture's side. It sprayed black coolant like oil from the earth, and with a choked shriek it fell hard onto the deck, sparking and smoking. The man it had attacked thrashed like a fish on the deck nearby, clutching at his violently bleeding side and screaming in what had to be terrible pain. "Jesus Christ!" Wolcott observed, rushing to his side.

            "Let me at him," said Gerry Pemberton, the onboard medic, while another crewman restrained the wounded man.

            Wolcott would have helped, but his ears carried his head skyward as a very unwelcome sound filled them—hummingbirds. Lots and _lots _of hummingbirds.

            Even though the sky was black and moonless Wolcott could make out a darker cloud of predators descending towards his ship. "Battle stations!" the captain boomed, racing to the helm. "Let's get this thing moving, people!" _Resolute_'s engines started up as ordered, but it took a while for the boat to pick up any speed. As it attempted to do so, Wolcott detected a sharp change in the wind—things were suddenly very much cooler. It was a summer night, and Wolcott knew that even in Ireland winter did not happen in summer.

            But apparently the old rules no longer applied. Wolcott raced on deck just in time to see, to his disbelief, a wave of bluish energy coursing across the sea towards them, freezing the water solid as it went. It hit _Resolute _hard, jolting the ship as black ice locked it in place, foiling all attempt at movement. "Bloody _hell_," Wolcott breathed. All about him, crewmen scrambled to take action. _Resolute_'s mounted guns lit up the night as a line of tracers sped up into the descending black cloud, dropping screeching vultures and, Wolcott was surprised to see, _bats_. They weren't the standard Batton Bone model, either—they were vicious vampires, with teeth that looked even worse than that vulture's beak.

            Finally it all registered in Wolcott's head: he was under attack. Reardon probably would not be better off. He raced to his radio and patched in to his comrade. "Jimmy! _Jimmy_! Get the hell out of there now! We're being attacked!"

            But Reardon already had a lot on his plate. About the time that first vulture went down, Reardon was approaching the back of the kitchen area, and the jackal didn't like that. At his captain's order the rookie prepared to fire his rifle to put an end to the threat, but the black drone suddenly leapt forward, its teeth and claws glinting menacingly. The rookie panicked, unleashing a full spray that tore the kitchen to pieces while only dropping the jackal on its side, far too close for safety. It lashed out as Reardon backed away, catching the captain's leg. He cried out, stumbling and falling on one knee, but retained enough balance to defend himself. He raised his pistol and fired right into the jackal's face, destroying most of the skull and rendering the drone useless.

            "You all right?" Barnes asked, helping his commander to his feet.

            "Gunfire aboard _Resolute_," one of the others patrolling _Sea King _announced. "Repeat, _massive _gunfire aboard _Resolute_!"

            "What the hell?" Reardon had time to ask before a loud screech cut off his thoughts. One of the vultures flew into the doorway, its bladed beak wide open. Barnes stepped forward to shoot it, but before he could level his weapon a bolt of green plasma shot out from the beak. The bird hadn't exactly been aiming, but the bolt happened to catch Barnes in the heart. The unlucky man slumped to the floor, his weapon clattering next to him, while Reardon fired once into the target's long neck, severing it from the body. "My God," he observed, feeling sick.

            "Jimmy! _Jimmy_!" Wolcott's voice said into his radio. "Get the hell out of there now! We're being attacked!"

            "No shit," the rookie observed, shaking in his boots.

            Reardon's world spun. His first instinct was to indeed get the hell of _Sea King _and defend his ship, but something stopped him. He turned and barreled almost fanatically to where the jackal had originally rested, throwing open the cabinet door the dog had guarded. Immediately his face drained of all color. It was a bomb. A big one. And its timer seemed to be about done. James Reardon thumbed the switch on his radio almost unconsciously, patching into the members of the _Sea King _patrol for the last time.

            "_Run, lads_!"

            Wolcott was calling in for immediate reinforcements when he saw it. One man from Reardon's team rushed onto the deck of _Sea King_. What he was doing, Wolcott would never know, because a second later a fireball tore the yacht apart. The thick plume of flame rocketed fifty feet in the air before beginning to dissipate, while below what remained of the ship smoked and burned in direct contrast to the frosty ice that held _Resolute _in place.

            Wolcott never had ample time to register that his friend Reardon was dead. Above him he heard a laugh that echoed like thunder across the sea. It came from the center of the drone army, from the lips of a massive winged figure. The drones circled him like the planets circle the sun, and even in the dim light Wolcott could make out the bulky physique, the golden armor, and the granite-like chestplate that resembled some pharaoh's headdress. The head was indeed interesting, since it was the head of a lion on a humanoid body. The lion's "mane" was part of the headdress image, flowing down onto his shoulders in silvery wisps. All over his body were elaborate hieroglyphic markings of fluctuating colors, akin to the ones on the drones he controlled—for he was their controller, Wolcott realized. This sphinx—it was a sphinx, he somehow knew, even though it didn't look exactly like the ones he'd seen in pictures and history books—carried a long, ornamented spear that was designed to look as though it had been carved of black obsidian with a glistening golden spearhead. His wings appeared to be made of stone and hardly looked like wings at all, with long jagged "feathers" with nothing in between, yet still the beast was able to fly. Wolcott knew this creature was responsible for the attack on his ship and, somehow, the attack on _Sea King_, and that meant war.

            The sphinx apparently thought the same thing. While the rest of the crew stared in amazement at their new foe, he took action. Glaring at them with the glowing white orbs that were his eyes, he raised his free hand and traced a symbol in the air with his fingertip. Energies remained where his finger had been, and then there was a glyph in the air for them all to see, red in color, as was the curtain of energy that had suddenly clustered around the sphinx's fist. His hand shot out again and a blast of flaming energies rained down upon _Resolute_, smashing hard into the main guns. The attack was hot enough to ignite spare ammunition, and the explosions rocked the ship, killing sailors and knocking others overboard onto the hard ice below.

            Wolcott was far out of his league and knew it. He ordered his troops to focus their firepower on the sphinx, and a storm of adaman death flew up towards the heavily armored menace. He grunted, taking a few hits before shimmering out of existence, only to appear suddenly again nearby. It was a very short short-warp, but it was all he needed. He absently examined the damage done to his armor by the adaman bullets, but appeared to be—horrifyingly—no worse for the wear.

            "Impossible," Wolcott declared, impotently. Then, just when it seemed things couldn't get worse, they did.

            Medic Pemberton saw the figure first. It was a mantis-class Reploid, skating across the ice he himself had probably created, a fusion powered thruster system in his wings giving him the insane speed he wanted. He reached _Resolute _and leapt up onto the flaming deck. His entire body was so chrome that it was like an overly shiny mirror. It seemed like a dull design to Pemberton, but watching as the crystal clear armor picked up and reflected the nearby flames, the medic understood why it had been done. The enemy was humanoid in stance, but he had thrusters hidden under the long carapace and tail of a mantis. His face was also that of a mantis, and his bug-eyes were blood red, the only part of him with color. His arms predictably ended in scythe-like blades, and he walked upright in the typical stalking mantis fashion.

            Pemberton wasted little time before attempting to dispatch of this new threat. While the mantis took in its new surroundings, the medic lowered his rifle and fired once into the enemy's chest. He stumbled backward, rubbing at the sore spot with a claw and fixing his protruding eyes on his attacker. "Impossible!" Pemberton protested. An adaman bullet to the torso? What kind of armor would allow someone to survive?

            Before he had a chance to fire again the mantis raised a claw and the gun was torn from his fingertips. He looked up in confusion as the mantis let the weapon drop the floor before surging forth, burying one scythe in Pemberton's stomach. The human's eyes went nearly as wide as the mantis's, and he opened his mouth but only blood came out. "Magnetism," the mantis explained in a raspy, skittish voice that revealed how much fun he was having. He chuckled, a scratchy noise that made the dying medic sick. "They call me Polar Mantos for a reason. Well, two reasons, in fact," he added, gesturing with the other claw to the ice that had frozen _Resolute _in place. Then he took that claw and sliced Pemberton's head off. The spray of blood from the wound speckled his shiny armor, and he raised both bloody claws to the sky and laughed. He hadn't had this much fun in _ages_.

            "You devil!"

            The voice was like a grizzly bear's roar. Mantos turned to behold a short but well built human wearing the garb of a captain. The Reploid laughed again, raising a claw in eager challenge. "You want to play, human?" His mandibles opened and he hissed throatily.

            "Then let the games begin!"

            Revenant cleared the street in ten seconds. As he raced along he called Headquarters, demanding backup. Unfortunately, he was informed, most of the units were asleep in their homes and it would take time to mobilize them. Jesus Christ!

            He suddenly realized that he was very much alone. Not a soul was on the street, not a pedestrian, not a police officer to investigate the carnage that had broken out, and most importantly no rampaging scorpion.

            But apparently citizens had been awakened by the missile attacks in the alley, and some were peeking outside to watch. They looked to Revenant, bloody and beaten, and immediately shrunk in fear. _No! _he wanted to protest. _It's not me! It's her, she did it, she killed…_

            God, she was _dead_, Haley was dead and there was nothing he'd been able to do about it! Rage melted into desperation and again into rage as the world began to spin around him. Had that all just happened?

            It had, as confirmed by the missile that streaked down the street and crashed into a house on Revenant's right. A curious child and her mother were incinerated on their doorstep, right before Revenant's eyes.

            A sick feeling took the Reploid, and he turned to run again. All he could think to do was put distance between himself and the enemy, which, he realized as another missile tore up the street behind him, spraying his back with shards of asphalt, was a good idea. But the best he could do was Rovanin Park, the same place where not fifteen minutes earlier he and his lover had shared the last tender moment of their lives.

            "_Here I am!_" he screamed, turning around like a top and directing his voice at the sky. "You want me? _Come get me_!"

            "Oh, I'll get you, Revenant," the cold whisper said, and Revenant snapped to attention but couldn't find the origin of the noise. "I've already got you."

            The Hunter felt a twinge of dread and turned sharply to the right, where he saw, perched on a tree branch, an owl. It hooted once, and its golden eyes seemed to be fixed right on Revenant. But owls were always looking behind you.

            Revenant turned, and there she was, a scorpion demoness standing almost seductively before him in her hellish armor. He let out a battle cry and started to raise his twin longknives, but her tail shot out before he could make a strike or move to defend himself. The bladed stinger embedded itself in his right shoulder, and he screamed as incredible pain burned throughout his body and brain. Nova Scorpio laughed with great mirth, removing the barb and letting the Hunter stagger backwards as a wave of sudden and intense nausea washed over him. He clutched at his bloody shoulder, staring at the now fuzzy image of his enemy as she licked her lips clean of the light spatter of blood that had welled from his shoulder.

            "Go to sleep, little Revenant," she said, her voice as poisonous as the fluid now coursing through her victim's veins. "It will all be over soon."

            "If I go, then so do you, Maverick!" the Hunter declared, forcing himself upright. If he died tonight, then he promised himself he would die strong.

            "Maverick?" Her lips curled into an amused sneer, and she walked towards him with elegant but menacing steps. "Maverick doesn't even _begin _to describe me," she declared, her white teeth displayed now in a sharklike grin. He backed away as far as he could, eventually backing into a park bench…the same park bench where earlier he'd…

            Scorpio lashed out with a thin foot and kicked him in the chest, seating him in that haunted bench. Her right claw opened and she leveled the barrels behind her, at the residential buildings. "Poor, _poor _Revenant," she mocked him further, her golden eyes fairly bursting with anticipation. "Couldn't save _anyone_ at all."

            Revenant heard it before his blurred vision picked it up. Scorpio's inexplicably powerful rays crashed into the sleeping city behind them, raising hellfire into the sky. He shot up from the bench and hacked his longknives into her, trying to score hits in the parts of her armor that were thinner, and while he drew some blood his limbs were suddenly very heavy and his movements sluggish. Plus, his efforts only seemed to _encourage _Scorpio. Pain shot through his body, like his blood had been replaced with battery acid, and he screamed as the poison took full effect. Scorpio deactivated her guns, fairly shrieking with sadistic laughter at the cacophony of screams that had erupted behind her, and from the Hunter who now slumped uselessly against her. She clamped a claw around his waist, lifting him like a toy and staring into his pain racked eyes with a promising smile.

            "Kill me," he pleaded, feeling his life crash around him. He was the most powerful Hunter in Moscow, and he couldn't…he hadn't been able to… "Leave them out of it…!"

            "Oh, my dear boy," she crooned, bringing him closer to lick the blood off his bleeding facial wound. He cringed and shivered at the eerie touch and she laughed quietly in his ear, her voice a seductive whisper. "Whoever said I was planning to kill you?"

            Any emotion that would have clouded Revenant's eyes was shut down as Scorpio pulled his lips to hers, locking him into a kiss of oblivion, and his world went dark.

            When she felt the body go slack, she examined his agonized face and laughed almost musically. Despite what she'd said to him, he was still an excellent catch. He had indeed hurt her with that point-blank shot, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Actually, it had, but that was not her concern. She picked up the wail of sirens in the background, but more important to her was her communication network. "Ultimus," she said, "the mission was a success." But the reply wasn't from Ultimus at all.

            "I thought you were supposed to behave yourself?" A deep voice, male and malevolent.

            "C-commander," she gasped, her voice all business.

            "It is of no concern. In fact I approve of the mess. Ultimus is still a bit conservative."

            "Of course... Rendezvous at Beta?"

            "Indeed," the Commander replied. "I will meet you there. I am eager to meet the new recruits. This is a milestone for Armada, Nova. Hurry to the party."

            Communication broke and she allowed herself a satisfied smile, hoisting Revenant over her shoulder and vanishing from sight in a concentrated beam of dark red light, leaving Moscow to burn behind her.

            Wolcott knew he was going to die, but he'd be damned if he didn't sell himself dearly. The bear of a man fired a single shot at the mantis, who predictably dodged to the left. Wolcott quickly readjusted his aim and fired again, but the enemy redirected himself with the agility of the insect he was patterned after, rebounding and landing eight feet in front of Wolcott. The human reflected that the female mantis was supposed to be the deadly one, but try telling that to this guy. The rest of the crew was holding off the drones surprisingly well, but the sphinx kept razing the ship and without the main guns there wasn't much they seemed to be able to do to stop him.

            "You humans are so predictable," Mantos observed. Wolcott responded by belting out a curse and firing three shots in rapid succession. This time the enemy simply turned and bared his heavily armored back to the blow, and even all three bullets couldn't penetrate. "_Very _predictable," the chrome mantis giggled before darting off once more. He moved fast as a bullet, springing off his legs like a cricket and using his wings for added aerial mobility. Wolcott spun to the right but it was not in time, and one of the scythes pierced his right forearm. He yelped in pain but still thought to bring the pistol up at the enemy's face. He tried to pull the trigger…but nothing happened. The mantis's eyes flickered like a dying light bulb, holding the trigger with a minor magnetic current. Before Wolcott could take action against this a jet of freezing energies left the embedded scythe and traveled up his arm and into the rest of his body. He screamed and fell to the deck, feeling his blood freezing inside him and hearing the enemy laughing in victory. "Hey, Geode!" he called to the sphinx. "Let's say we wrap things up, eh?"

            Geode Sphinx needed no further hints. He descended below the deck, flying low to the ice and dragging his spear across the ship's hull, splitting it open like a can of tuna. Screams echoed from the hull, screams from those who'd fled there to take refuge, but Sphinx hardly even paid attention.

            What did grab his attention was a spear that broke clear through the ice below him, sticking him just above the knee. He roared in pain, a roar that reminded those in earshot of a sonic boom, and tore the spear from its nesting place, looking down as he did so into the eyes of Spartan Lionfish. "You picked the wrong boat, my friend."

            A feral snarl escaped the behemoth. "Spartan…we've been looking for you."

            "Well now you've found me, and it's your funeral." The naval soldier drew another toxic spear from his back, waiting for the effects of the first to take the sphinx. He was more than a little alarmed when nothing happened. The fish walked on the ice, while the sphinx hovered just above it, still clutching the broken end of Spartan's weapon. The lionfish activated the weapon with a mental command and the loaded tip exploded violently in the sphinx's grasp. Another roar echoed throughout the ocean, and Spartan rushed in to finish the job, drawing a new spear from his back.

            Sphinx extended a fingertip and drew a golden glyph in the air. Spartan barely had time to wonder about it before a thick bolt of lightning erupted from the tip of Sphinx's finger. It tore up the ice around Spartan and electrocuted him ferociously, dumping him back into the sea. In his agony, Spartan was unable to react before the weapon shot down into the water and impaled him, hoisting him out of the water. Sphinx grinned a monstrous grin at the fish he'd speared, watching the aquatic champion clinging to life on the end of the spear. "You…you devils," he managed, blood trickling from his broad lips.

            "Perhaps," Geode Sphinx allowed. "But do not judge us until you have walked a mile in our shoes."

            "I will never…"

            "Oh, you will," the large Reploid replied evenly as Polar Mantos flew towards them, his glossy armor stained with much blood. "Is it time?"

            Mantos nodded rapidly, hearing the sounds of approaching vessels in the distance. "We must clean up our mess, you know."

            "Of course," Sphinx replied in a rumbling chuckle, extending his arm and tracing another glyph. The symbols on his body glowed a blazing red in color, and from his internal generator he called forth a supply of energy that he manipulated into a superheated blast. It rolled over the ice surrounding _Resolute_, melting it all and letting the dying ship begin its descent to the deep. Its slashed hull took on water almost immediately, and Mantos widened the gap, struggling mightily but pulling the metal apart with his innate powers. Screaming crewman bailed out, swimming through lukewarm waters with no place really to go, and Mantos gleefully ended their lives. He wanted as few witnesses left over as possible.

            The two attackers rose into the sky, the trail of drones following them faithfully. Spartan shuddered and fell into unconsciousness as they gained altitude, and Sphinx had to smile. "Ultimus sure knows how to pick them."

            "You really think these two will be the ones?" Mantos asked, in his animated fashion.

            "They are the best for the job," Sphinx shrugged. "One other will be nice…but that will come in time. But do not worry. No one will be able to stand against Armada Group."

            "Of course," Mantos cackled, rubbing his claws together. "Oh, of course."

            And without another word the two Reploids vanished, warping to their rendezvous point with their unwilling prisoner. Below them, _Resolute _gave in to the ocean, vanishing beneath the waves and pulling a few trapped sailors with her. A small platoon of reinforcements soon arrived, but far too late to do anything except reflect on the tragedy of the moment beneath a moonless sky. The peace, it seemed, had just come to an abrupt end.


	3. Damage Assessment

**Chapter 1—Damage Assessment**

_From: Cmdr. Gorov_

_To: Cmdr. Signas_

_Priority: Flash_

_Subject: Incident Report_

_This morning at approximately 3 a.m. there was a massive attack in central Moscow. Only two Hunters were nearby at the time: Revenant, commander of the local branch of the 17th, and Haley, the SiC of the local 20th. The latter was found dead at the scene and the former is missing but is presumed dead. Full details will arrive after a formal investigation, but it looks like a team of crack Mavericks got a little trigger-happy._

_Signas, I've just lost the best man on my roster. Morale just plummeted among the others—if someone got Revenant, than no one is safe. Worse is the fact that we can't find the body. If it was Mavericks, then we can be reasonably sure they'll tamper with him in some way. We both know how bad that could be. _

_From the looks of things it's possible that Revenant was specifically targeted. I recommend you tell your officers to watch their backs, and pass the message along to the other commanders. I will contact you later in the day, and hopefully then we will both know a lot more about what's going on in this world._

***

**Maverick Hunter Headquarters**

**Tokyo, Japan**

            Good coffee could cure any disease in the world, he remarked to himself, even the heavy lethargy of a Monday. It was Douglas's own brew, and the mechanic was proud of it. Even the top dogs in this outfit humbled themselves by coming down into Douglas's greasy cluttered garage and begging for his patented pick-me-up potion. And so, when the chief of Research and Development saw Archer, the commander of Unit 5, marching towards his unkempt office he justly assumed that his comrade was in need of caffeine.

            But the look on Archer's face said otherwise. That was worth a tilt of the head. In his left hand the commander held a manila envelope that to Douglas immediately meant "bad news". Douglas nevertheless greeted his friend with a characteristically chipper "G'day," to which Archer responded with a sad smile and a shake of his head.

            "I wish I could agree, Douglas." He removed some documents and pictures from the folder and set the whole mess in front of the mechanic. "There was an incident in Moscow last night. Revenant was killed."

            "Revenant?" Douglas blinked, feeling a chill. He did not know Revenant personally, but rather by reputation. In concept, it was rather like X kicking the bucket, and hence the unease. "How the hell did _that _happen?"

            Archer motioned to the photographs he'd removed from the folder. "Looks like a strike team got him. His girlfriend was taken out, too." A hardness came over Archer's voice and he stopped to collect himself. Unlike Douglas, he _had _known Revenant, and losing a friend always came hard. "They never actually recovered Revenant's body, but given how little of Haley—his sweetheart—they managed to collect, Gorov wonders if there's even anything left that we can call a 'body'."

            Douglas picked up his green helmet from among a mass of paperwork and situated it on his head. He then snapped an eyepiece down over his left eye and zoomed in on a photograph of what looked like a residential street. More than one home had been wrecked, and it looked like even a few larger buildings had seen better days. He focused on a blast crater in the middle of the street, frowning mightily. "RPG, looks like." That was saying something. Rocket-propelled-grenade launchers had evolved just as much as any other weapon over the years. They still, however, required some time to reload, and that led Douglas to his next hypothesis. "If so, then there had to be at least three of them…maybe two, if they were fast little buggers." He chewed his lip, squinting at a different portion of the image. "'Course, coulda just been one or two Reploids with innate launchers."

            "That's about what Gorov's people think," Archer affirmed, running a hand through his short blonde hair and sighing. "Whatever the case, there's no sign of the bastards. The investigation just started, but Gorov's pissed."

            "Understandably."

            "They'll track the bastards wherever they fled to…Jesus, Douglas," Archer breathed, shaking his head again. "It's been a long time since an officer that high up was taken out."

            "Maybe the Mavs are finally getting smart," Douglas suggested. "Signas isn't giving them any room to breathe, so they have to switch to other methods."

            "Yeah, well, they'll pay for it all the same. It's a war they can't win. Why they can't realize it, I don't know."

            "Nor will we ever." Douglas smiled as consolingly as he could. "Sorry, man. I know you were friends."

            Archer straightened and nodded. "I'll be fine, just as soon as we catch the guys who did this. Could you look that information over? Gorov's sent us some measurements and estimates about the damaged areas and weapons that may have been used, but your opinion's probably more weighted than theirs."

            "Well if you're gonna kiss my ass about it, why the hell not?" Douglas briefly scanned the documents to see what each one related to. "Anything else?"

            "Nah. Just gotta find someone."

            "Signas call a meeting?"

            "Of course. I'll stop by later. I have a feeling this is gonna be a late night."

            Douglas took a sip of coffee and smiled. "I've got that part taken care of, my friend."

            Though full details were only given to Hunter commanders and the local authorities, it wasn't like news agencies had fallen asleep over the decades. Images of the Moscow attacks were broadcast throughout the world, with reporters more or less repeating the same three facts in a variety of different ways, as only reporters can do: there was an attack, there were casualties, and they didn't know anything besides that.

            Two Hunters watched the story unfold on a couch in the expansive lounge that Signas had been gracious enough to include in the newly established global Maverick Hunter Headquarters. The previous location for this prestigious facility had been New York, but Signas, the leader of the entire Hunter force worldwide, had undertaken an effort to separate the Hunters as entirely as possible from the national armed forces. That had required a move to the more secluded Tokyo, where they'd be free from the yolk of the Megacity Army.

            The move had come shortly after the close of what was being called the Seraph Uprising. Four Mavericks who had in the past served the Megacity Army as virtual slaves revolted and stole minor nuclear weapons from their resting places. Their trump cards in hand, they constructed an airship in their base in the Catskills, which had been code-named "Seraph Castle". By the time the Hunters and the Army worked through enough paperwork to go after the bad guys, the Mavericks were already on the move. They used their airship to launch the nukes at the Hunter Headquarters and the Army's flying fortress, _Icarus. _The HQ bomb was a dud, but _Icarus_ vanished in radioactive fire. Adding insult to injury, a cleverly placed Maverick ground force closed in on the evacuated HQ and occupied it, sending a strike team to destroy the Hunter leaders who'd stayed behind while the main force raced out to Seraph Castle, only to have to turn around and race back.

            But the end of the story was a fairly happy one. The Hunters returned too late to save _Icarus_ but soon enough to save their comrades and liberate their home base after a long and bloody battle in the Megacity streets. Meanwhile in Seraph Castle, a team of elites led by Mega Man X himself released the captured Zero and brought the Maverick kingpins, including Sigma, to justice. Vowing never to waste time with the Army again, Signas had remained in New York only long enough to clean up the mess made by the Mavericks and then began reconverting the standard Tokyo base into a fortress capable of housing the Hunter Command. Now, a little over two years later, here these two Reploids sat watching live coverage of a new tragedy, but one that they, with any luck, wouldn't have to face in person someday.

            "Jesus," observed Mega Man X, his eyes leveled towards the widescreen television that adorned the north wall of the lounge.

            "Amen," said his counterpart, Mason. "They said Hunters were among the casualties, didn't they?"

            "Give 'em a few minutes, and they'll say it again," X said with a shake of his head. It was really amazing how little things changed, especially with the media. "I knew it had gotten too quiet."

            "Now isn't that the truth." Commander Mason of Unit 3 downed the last of his bottled water, a gesture that wasn't really necessary but did refresh him. Mason was, like all the off-duty Hunters, in plainclothes, which for him was a sleeveless white shirt and combat pants. His salt-and-pepper haircut was a bit longer than a Marine barber would allow, but still carried the image of a military man, though Mason eschewed the bureaucracy of the Megacity Army even more than most. As the leader of the 3rd Unit worldwide, he headed up a team of straight infantry, and they were damned good at it too. Often he worked with the 5th Unit, which was infantry also but specialized in some stealthier tactics. The frequent plan was for Archer's people to set up the strike, and for Mason's heavy hitters to then go to work. In the past their next closest companion was the 20th, which was a mixed unit of soldiers and battle machines, but for straight machinery you went to the 15th. Headed up by a human named Erich Zegmann, the 15th contained most of the ride armors the corps had in its service. There were many other units but they were less prominent, and were often used either for menial patrols or, on the flip side, very specific operations. One such group was the 8th Unit, a team of guerillas that made very efficient and very covert warfare on targets who often thought themselves impervious. Their leader, Damia, was also something of a spook, Mason had decided. She worked a lot with the Intel department, and it was rumored they had an unofficial unit up and running. In fact, Mason knew, they did. Called Aegis, it pulled its recruits from regular units and occasionally sent them on this-never-happened type missions.

            Then, of course, there were the big dogs. Hunters who overqualified in specific areas of combat were chosen for Commander Zero's aptly named Unit 0. It was a smallish team, and each member had a different skill that they excelled in. The idea was to have a single unit that could function as a jack-of-all-trades team, a move deliberately made to copy the common Maverick strategy of leadership employed during uprisings. Finally there was the 17th, the most revered of all Hunter units. Here went the cream of the crop, those who showed enough promise to be schooled personally by the man who had defeated Sigma three times alone and twice again with Zero—Mega Man X, the hero of the century.

            But X didn't really look like a hero, sitting there in blue jeans and a black T-shirt. In fact he didn't look like he had anything to do with a military group at all. He had the image of a man who'd just reached his 20s, and despite all the havoc he'd seen in his day the lines in his face were not all that telltale. Since the madness that had unraveled in New York, X, like his friend Zero, had taken on a generally positive look on life, even if he did seem to be working more now than he had when the Mavericks were revolting openly. No sooner had they set up shop in Tokyo than Signas had begun a worldwide effort to root out any Mavericks left in hiding and stamp them out before they could regroup for another attack. After the last one, it seemed clear that the enemy was willing to cross any and all lines to accomplish their mad dreams of genocide and Reploid dominance. Signas had made this relatively simple by reorganizing the entire Hunter force, arranging for every individual unit to have branches in every major Hunter base. The overall unit commanders were all based in the master Headquarters. This had wrought a change in the 20th, the commander of which had been Zion, the tactical genius who had won back the New York Headquarters from Mavericks two years earlier. Zion was now the overall Commander of the New York base, and most of his unit had stayed with him. The Hunter who now controlled his old unit was the woman who'd done so in Tokyo until Signas came, another soldier/strategist named Luna, who was quite capable if not sometimes quite mad.

            They were talking about civilian casualties now. X watched the scene on the screen and let out a disappointed sigh as photos of a mother and her six-year-old daughter were displayed on the screen. Both had been killed on their doorstep when an errant missile struck. "It never gets any less disgusting, you know?"

            "Yeah." It was not something Mason often dwelt on—merely a fact of life, he thought. But X was at his core a pacifist, one who fought only because he wanted to ensure peace for the future, and for no other reason. That was probably why he'd maintained his innocent appearance. X had no real ego to speak of, and was generally soft spoken despite his uncanny wealth of knowledge. Every day the champion Hunter seemed to get a little wiser, probably, Mason thought, because he still spent a boatload of time with Cain, the old human scientist who'd held Signas's position until the New York attacks. Mason, himself more of a gung-ho soldier, got along better with the free spirit Zero than the contemplative X, but that didn't mean he didn't have tremendous respect for the latter. One thing about X was that if you were his friend you could always count on the guy to cover your ass, no matter what. "But that's what we're here for, man. They'll find the ones responsible."

            "And if not," X completed the thought, massaging his left temple, "we'll be ready for them when they show their faces again." X would not have been overly troubled by the news—Mavericks still pulled off successful surprise attacks, despite the Hunters' best efforts. But there was something more to this one, he sensed, and whatever it was it was bad.

            About ten minutes later that suspicion was partially confirmed when a regular beeping sounded from both Hunters' wristwatches, which doubled as pagers of sorts. "Well damn," Mason said, stretching lazily before pulling himself to his feet. "Looks like something's brewing, after all."

            "Is it too much to ask for a day off?" X asked the air, rising and leaving the room with Mason. Signas was calling a meeting on the fly, and that usually meant work for someone. The answer to his day-off question, X knew, was a big fat yes. Given the size of the tasks they'd pledged themselves to, they had to be on-call almost twenty-four seven if they hoped to accomplish anything. The enemy never waited until it was convenient for the good guys. X didn't mind all that much, frankly. It probably beat the hell out of a civilian Reploid's life, and for all his aversion to fighting, X hated boredom even more.

            Maverick Hunter Headquarters is a U-shaped building that sits on the outskirts of Tokyo, as far from the established Army bases as possible. The horizontal central portion of the base is the largest, and comprises the offices, meeting halls, residence quarters, hospital, lounges, cafeteria and, on the upper floor, the Intelligence division. The vertical east wing is home to R&D, and has both the expansive garage and various laboratories that allow the Hunters to create and manage their tools of war. The west wing is where all the training goes on. It houses conventional exercise and training equipment, along with virtual simulators and all manner of programs to get Hunters in top shape. A full mile behind the building itself is the airfield, home to the small air force the Hunters maintain, and all around there are ingenious traps that could be activated should anyone decide to invade the place. _No one _wanted the events of two years prior to be repeated.

            Nestled in the west wing now were two units locked in heated competition, moving through a virtual reality jungle setting armed with some of the deadlier weapons known to man. Their commanders stood on platforms at opposite ends of the arena, watching down as their troops quietly slinked through the overgrowth, both hoping dearly for victory, since the price of the drinks tonight rested on the loser's shoulders.

            "God damn it!" a male Reploid erupted as his orange armor received a bright blue splotch in the chestplate. "Tyclammel is out."

            "Damn it, people!" Zero crossed his arms nervously behind his back, forcing himself not to pace. "Let's try to show some effort here?" His efforts were rewarded by a single shot, and a grumble from a Hunter near Tyclammel. "Atta boy!" Zero praised the attacker—the single shot meant it had to be Cort, who even used pistols in paintball matches—while a blue and green Reploid named Deluge announced his disqualification.

            "Touché," said a woman standing on another elevated platform across the room, haughtily tossing her shoulder-length brown hair over her shoulder. She wore dazzlingly blue armor lined with gold. "But it was just a lucky shot."

            Cort heard the air shift nearby, and knew the enemy commander was about to prove her point. If he let her, that was. The silver-haired gunman clutched a pistol in his hand and crept carefully away from the sound, while making enough noise for his location to be known. He looked behind him, and sure enough the short-warper was making her way forward. Cort got a general idea of his target's location and brought his pistol up, quickly firing off another two rounds. Both struck true. "Nexus, out," reported the newest member of Unit 8, a relatively quiet girl in dark indigo, now tarnished by the yellow that was Unit 0's mark.

            "And I suppose that was luck as well?" a smug Zero asked his opponent.

            "No," his adversary responded, smiling. "That was a diversion."

            Cort heard the words and swore mentally, because there indeed was a presence nearby. "Clever bastard," he whispered, swirling on his feet and firing his weapon in hopes of a drastic success, but taking a three-round burst of blue all the same. "Cort, out."

            Zero's dismay was erased by Acrystos announcing her own defeat. The Huntress, her light green hair about the same color as her armor, had taken one of Cort's wild shots due to her close proximity to her partner, Brant Everett, a lanky human who served as the squad medic. So, the guerillas were hunting in packs…and that worked against them. "And now the plot thickens," he said, grinning wickedly. "I'll beat you even if I am one short."

            Commander Damia crossed her arms over her chest and met Zero with a steely stare. "Then let's see you prove the blonde jokes wrong."

            That, of course, was up to Delates. With Cort and Tyclammel down, that left him with the two rookies. They weren't rookies at all, of course, but they were new enough to the team that even after over a year Delates and the others were razzing them. One, Siren, was predictably a noisy little pistol with a skull full of ideas for incapacitating enemies. The other, Victorio, was a muscleman patterned after a knight, though he didn't wear his armor here due to the fact that he'd quite obviously stick out like a sumo wrestler in a nun's convent. Delates was pretty sure he knew where the other two were hiding, and made his way towards the center of the arena, making as little noise as possible. He was tracking three opponents, as far as he knew.

            Then he saw it—a particularly large bunch of foliage that for whatever reason didn't quite blend in with the rest. He fixed his rifle in its direction and rattled off a burst of paintballs. "Damn," grumbled the bush. "Dantz, out."

            "My, how the tides have turned!" Zero grinned. "Ready to surrender?"

            Damia tilted her head curiously. "Wanna pull out all the stops?"

            "By all means."

            Siren heard it and released the safeties on her innate talent, and a monstrous screeching sound filled the arena, not from her vocal chords but from a soundwave unit in her buster. Brant Everett yelped at the pain in his ears but used the sound to cover his movements, firing in any odd direction to try and stop the enemy, he succeeded only in presenting a target to Delates, who took it gladly. "Everett, out," the medic announced, clutching his ears and realizing no one would hear his proclamation anyway.

            Siren stopped, pleased, and Victorio flashed a thumbs up from within her line of sight. No sooner had he done so than a blue paintball exploded against his broad chest. Siren blinked, and almost as soon as she took action another paintball found her, both courtesy of the final member of Damia's posse. Both of Zero's troops announced their defeat, and Damia met Zero's gaze with a thin smile. "Well I don't think it's ever come quite this close."

            "Know your enemy, Del!" Zero bellowed. "You can kick his ass! He's just a poser anyway—" His taunts were rudely interrupted when a shot landed right between his eyes. "What the—_Castle, you little shit!_"

            "I believe you said something about pulling out all the stops?" Castle demanded from the field, his voice laced with laughter.

            "Well since you insist," Zero snarled, drawing the pistol the commanders had chosen for themselves, but before he could snipe Castle Damia drew her own weapon and pegged Zero squarely in the chest. "What the hell!" the blonde commander exclaimed. Damia just laughed and rolled to the side as Zero's downed troops rejoined the fray, opening up at her from below. She rolled off the platform into the foliage as Zero took wild shots at her, but the crimson Hunter had never been much of a success with pistols, especially fake ones.

            Delates twisted around and found himself face-to-face with Castle, the dark-armored superspook of Damia's team. Castle tossed him a ferocious grin before darting off without firing a shot. Delates rushed after him but heard a noise to his right. He turned at the same time his opponent did, and just like that he and Damia were staring down the happy ends of each other's weapons. It took Damia less than the second of pause the moment generated to realize that Delates would kick her ass with his weapon's automatic function and dropped low, racing off while firing into the emerald Hunter's legs. He laughed and gave chase.

            This farce of an exercise went on for another five minutes, with the two units warring without rhyme or reason until they looked like walking easels. Finally Damia deactivated the jungle program and they were left standing in an empty simulator. "So now what?" Everett asked. "Who buys the beers?"

            "Eh, don't worry," Zero waved it off, unintentionally flicking paint at the human's eye. "I'll find a way to pin it on X before the night's over."

            "Or Castle could chip in," Delates suggested, quite evilly. "If you had only resisted, I'd be clean now."

            "_You_?" Castle retorted incredulously. "I'd have planted one right between your eyes, same as your boss!"

            "That was a cheap shot, by the way," Zero said, deadpan, wiping blue paint away from his own eyes.

            "Get cleaned up," Damia ordered, checking the time. "Then…uh, where are we going?"

            "Let's get the hell off the base, at least," Tyclammel said. "What about Aoki's place?"

            "Works for me if it works for you guys," Zero agreed, getting shrugs all around. That was when his pager went off. "Oh, hell…"

            "He wants a meeting," Damia knew even before checking. She examined herself and sighed. "Well, this'll get a reaction."

            Zero grinned. They both were embarrassingly polka-dotted for a high clearance meeting, but what were you gonna do? The two teams headed into the little paintball armory to replace their weapons, where Delates winced at his reflection in the mirror. The two colors had merged into a sickly green, and the paint was oozing down his legs. "This is your fault, you know," he said to Damia as they entered the armory.

            "My fault?" She grinned up at him—Damia was about 5'3 in height, whereas Delates neared the six-foot mark. "If you were a little more careful, maybe I'd stop embarrassing you on the field."

            "Well that doesn't mean I can't embarrass you off of it," Delates replied, quickly snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her close for a very elaborate kiss. The gathered units chortled and whooped, while Castle, grinning the scene, lifted his rifle and unloaded on them both. Damia, without diverting her eyes or attention from Delates, brought her pistol up to bear and fired into Castle's groin. "You're getting better at this," Delates laughed, backing away.

            "Jerk," she punched his shoulder lightly, and then frowned. "Oh hell, I have paint in my mouth."

            "_THAT _was a cheap shot!" Castle was declaring loudly, while Acrystos, his own significant other, slumped against the wall in laughter.

            The Commanders took leave of their units, walking the halls and both putting on over-the-top displays of dignity despite their appearance. Damia had snagged a small towel on the way out and had used it to clean her face, succeeding only in smearing the paint. "At least it blends in a bit on you," Zero grumped. Blue and yellow did fade easier onto blue than they did on bright red. "And I'll have you know that if you keep raping my second in command like that, I'll raise a complaint with Personnel."

            She laughed. "Why Zero, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were jealous."

            He grinned wryly. "This is the day for cheap shots, isn't it?"

            Damia stared imperiously at a passerby who did a double take of their appearance. When he'd passed she leaned her head back, cracking her neck slightly. "Any ideas what this'll be about?"

            "It's been a while since the commanders were called together." That made Zero frown. They'd been busy for the past few hours, and had not seen the news. Moscow was eight hours away on the global clock, and thus the Hunters were still quite awake. "Maybe they'll actually have a mission."

            "Field work," Damia said dreamily. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

            For her it would be, they both knew. Damia had not participated in any real combat operations since the relocation, partially due to lack of missions and partially due to her medical situation. During the last catastrophe in New York she'd been subjected to extensive torture at Maverick hands, and had sustained lasting physical and psychological damage. The past year for her had been long and hard, but she appeared to have faced the majority of her demons and had come out all the better for it. She'd forced herself through a physical therapy regimen to recalibrate her internal systems, intending to continue commanding the 8th Unit. That, Zero knew, was largely because her teammates wouldn't give her up. The guerillas were a close-knit group, just like Zero's special ops team, and Damia had only lost two of them in all her years of command. A tanker in New York had gunned down the first one. The second, Henry Wallace, had resigned after shattering his leg in a training accident. Nexus had been brought in to fill those gaps, and she seemed to be fitting in well enough. Damia liked her, and that had made things a lot easier for the newbie.

            Zero himself had undergone a sort of reconstruction as well. No longer a somber brooding wretch, he was once more the energetic, confident little shit the corps had grown to love. When he wasn't training Siren and Victorio up to full potential, he was helping train rookie units or going on "field trips", unscheduled patrols with his unit that usually ended in some weird public spectacle. Occasionally even X would join in.

            The walk was long, since Signas's office was near the top of the main sector. The office was a big one, both because Signas was the big boss and because he liked to have private meetings there. When they did arrive they found that the others had already gathered, and in this case "others" meant the principal commanders. X, Archer and Luna occupied a large couch while Mason leaned against the wall next to them. Across the room Erich Zegmann, a big, powerful man, sat tiredly in an armchair. All eyes went wide at the sight of the two new polka-dotted arrivals. Damia blinked very innocently.

            Signas was parked behind his massive oak desk, poring over a file with a big frown on his face. The Grand Commander was a big Reploid who only very rarely stepped out of his blue suit of armor, tailored to resemble an officer's garb. Near him was Caligula, a Reploid who by contrast was rarely if ever seen _wearing _his armor. Few people even knew what color it was. His only real trademark was a brown trench coat that he wore in cooler months, even indoors. He stood an inch or so higher than Damia, making him reasonably short but like his occasional partner he packed a wallop when he wanted to. A former field spy himself, Caligula had distinguished himself sneaking behind enemy lines as though it were as easy as zipping a fly, and his ability to think and act decisively on gathered information had earned him the trust of Signas and Cain before him. His only drawback, and it was a major one, was that he was about as controversial as his namesake. He tended to do his own thing whether the authorities liked it or not, and had more than once found himself at odds with other senior members of the Hunter group, and especially the Megacity Army. But more often than not his actions were for the better, such as the time he disobeyed a flat order from Army bigwigs to leave captured Reploids in enemy hands lest he embarrass the Army by exposing their shitty tacticians for what they were.

            "All right," Signas said, lowering the file, "you're all here, so—wow." He raised an eyebrow at the blue-faced Zero, who raised one right back. "Uh, right. As you may or may not know there was a little party in Moscow very recently, and a very capable Hunter may be dead because of it. How many of you knew Revenant?"

            All had at least heard of him, and the use of past tense told them all they needed to. "Jesus," Damia observed quietly.

            "There was no body," Signas went on. "But given what was left of his friend Haley, Gorov is afraid there may not be anything of Revenant to collect."

            "Or he was kidnapped," Zegmann finished.

            "That's a possibility." Signas sighed, glancing again at the file from Moscow. "They don't know who did it yet, but from the looks of things it was a small, heavily armed strike force."

            "Mavericks," Mason said. "Who else?"

            "Probably," X mused. "That would explain the lack of restraint involving civilian targets. But Mavericks aren't the only ones who hate us."

            "The Furies are pretty strong over there," Archer pointed out. The Furies was a very militant anti-Reploid group. Occasionally they launched attacks on civilian Reploids, but Union police had more or less put a stranglehold on their operations.

            "I don't think the Furies have the stones for this one," Zero threw in. "I mean, Revenant was no pushover. The Furies are fine and dandy when it comes to unarmed Reploids, but not many of them are that devoted that they'd stare down the best Hunter in Russia."

            "I saw the footage," dark haired Commander Luna offered. "The whole hullabaloo reminded me of SC2." She referred to Sub-City 2 of Megacity 30, a Florida coastal area. At large in the world was a group of marauders calling themselves the Brave Little Toasters. It was a funny name for a group that wasn't funny at all. Under the oversight of Meltdown Rattler, a former Maverick demolitions expert, the Toasters lived up to their name by razing and pillaging smaller cities while the authorities were busy elsewhere. During the Repliforce War, they'd attacked the Floridian suburb city and gotten away clean. The residents there still had nightmares.

            "The Toasters work for profit," Damia countered, shaking her head. "If they took Revenant alive they _could _ransom him, but it'd be too easy to track them down first. Plus, they've never made a move when the world wasn't at war."

            "Ah, true," Luna said, shrugging. "Dopey me."

            "There is one other fellow who doesn't like us much," Zegmann put in easily. "And he certainly has the resources to do this kind of a job."

            Currently number one on the world's shit list was a former aide to an operations chief of the Megacity Army. His name was Chartreuse, and if the leads were correct he was the leader of a crime syndicate that had already fully corrupted the Megacity black market and was looking to go global. Known as the Serpent Network after its leader, who had for years operated under the moniker "Gold Serpent"—he also used "Kou Cao"—the group had been positively tied to the nuclear attacks of two years prior, and some speculation blamed the Serpent for orchestrating the whole thing. This was an organization of criminals with the efficiency of terrorists, only they pursued money rather than ideology, and if they were capable of arranging for the use of nuclear warheads, who knew what else they had up their sleeves? The Army had tried and failed to track down the leaders of this syndicate, but a certain general in the Army ranks had formed a partial alliance with Signas who, despite his separation policy regarding the Army, agreed to use both Army and Hunter personnel to form a strike force that would root out and neutralize components of the syndicate as soon as they were discovered. The pressure the Hunters had been putting on Chartreuse lately gave him clear motive for taking out his anger on a Hunter commander.

            There was, however, one thing that didn't click with that theory, and X picked up on it. "No, I don't think so, unless he's far stronger than we'd imagined. For all his progress infiltrating the System, the Serpent hasn't gotten far in other nations yet, and he can't seem to even _touch _the Union. It's like something's repelling him from inside."

            "Yeah," Zero had to agree. "But he could have flown the assets into Moscow to do the job and then retreat."

            "There's all kinds of speculation we can do," Signas said, taking control of the conversation once more, "but the fact is we won't know exactly what to do or who to suspect until Gorov finishes his investigation. But no matter what happens with that, the fact remains that this is the first time in a long time that a commander has been specifically targeted, hard as that is to believe. Gorov suggested I warn the commanders across the boards, and I think I'm going to do that."

            "What?" Luna asked, feigning insult. "You don't think we can take care of ourselves?"

            "It's not you people I'm worried about. In fact I wouldn't be as pressed to send the message were it not for the second incident."

            "Second incident?" X asked slowly.

            "Moscow isn't the only place burning tonight," said Caligula, his first words thus far. He spoke as usual in an easy drawl bereft of significant emotion. "A UK Coast Patrol vessel was attacked and sunk by unknown assailants. A second vessel, presumably the one the Coast Patrol was investigating, is also sleeping with the fishes, seemingly due to a bomb. There are one or two survivors, but they're too busted up to tell us anything yet."

            "One or two?" Mason echoed.

            "One or two," Caligula responded, just as solemnly.

            It wasn't so amazing that none of them had heard of it. Despite the much higher body count of the Rathlin Island incident, the media would consider it just another battle among soldiers—statistics, with no drama. Moscow got all the attention because the viewers were more interested in attacks on civilians, and given that both stories were still breaking, _Resolute_'s destruction would probably not be brought to light until the following morning. A cold fact, but a fact nonetheless.

            "The ones attacked were all under Army jurisdiction," Signas said, absently drumming a finger against his desk. "The reason I'm concerned is that the attack occurred almost simultaneously with the attack in Moscow. Both incidents involved very heavy firepower. Both incidents involved civilian casualties—there were murder victims on the bombed yacht. And both incidents may involve a missing Reploid."

            "A recovery effort has started," Caligula explained. "But already there are missing bodies. The two divers claim that their third man, one Spartan Lionfish, surfaced to see what was going on above them. There was apparently a battle of some sort, and now nothing is left of Spartan at the scene."

            "Spartan Lionfish," X said, leaning back in the couch. "Is that the same Spartan Lionfish who…"

            "Fought the Maverick undersea units? Yes, yes it is." Caligula smiled without humor. "This time, there is somewhat of a link to the Serpent, for as you know, X, Spartan has done his fair share of busting Kou Cao's seafaring smugglers. Taking him out could feasibly be on our friend's to-do list."

            "So two capable Reploids have been taken out most violently in the past few hours," Zero summarized. "And you want us to spread the word that we should all be careful."

            "That would be nice. It would be even nicer if you tried to live by the advice." Signas glanced at the wall clock before rubbing at his right eye. "All right. That's about it. Tomorrow we'll know a bit more and hopefully a few leads'll turn up. Till then, have a good night."

            "You too, boss man!" Zero replied, flashing his boss a thumbs up instead of a salute. "Don't work too late."

            "If only I had that choice. And do try to get cleaned up before you address the rookies in the morning, Zero. Contrary to popular belief we do try to appear serious once in a while. Some of us more than others," he added, taking a stab at himself. Zero often remarked on how lucky they were to work for this guy. They respected him because he didn't take himself too seriously. Signas worked as closely with his officers as he could, operating under the philosophy that as clever a manager and strategist he may be, it was the individual units that did all the actual work, and to make sure they operated at their best he wanted to make sure he only asked them to do what they could reasonably accomplish. This had established quite a close knit community of do-gooders, and had succeeded in making this Hunter base the most efficient in the world, even after only a mere year of activation.

            Damia left the room first, making a beeline for her own quarters. One could only stand being covered in paint for so long. As a commander, she merited a slightly larger living quarters, which had made it convenient when she and Delates had decided to room together. That had been one of their better moves, she thought. They both took great pleasure out of simply being close to one another, especially Damia, since she still woke up from nightmares on occasion. The fact that fragments of data popping into her subconscious mind scared her was more than a little embarrassing, but Delates had never been anything but understanding.

            The man in question was sprawled out lazily on the bed, dressed down to civilian clothes after cleaning himself up. "Good god, is that what we looked like?"

            "Oh, at least it's not still dripping." She stepped into her private shower—another cozy little benefit of being a commander—and began the annoying process of rinsing off her armor. Once that was done she stepped out long enough to remove her armor and clothes and went back under the warm spray to take care of the gunk on her body. Five minutes later she was dried and dressed, falling onto the bed next to her lover and letting out a tired sigh. "Mondays never get easier."

            Delates agreed, rubbing his hands over her shoulders. "What was that all about?"

            "There were a few attacks," she replied, purring at the feel of the massage. "Mavericks—well, we assume it's Mavericks—killed some Hunters in Moscow, including their champion, a guy named Revenant."

            "Revenant…" Delates thought for a second. "Yeah, I've heard of that guy. Damn."

            "A couple of boats got blown up around the same time in North Ireland. Signas doesn't know if there's a connection, but we're supposed to be careful anyway."

            "That mean he canceled our field trip?"

            "Oh, hell no." She smiled. "Even if he did, Zero'd smuggle us out."

            "Well then let's go before they leave without us."

            "Mmph," she replied, not savoring the idea of getting off the soft bed.

            "Come on, you laggart!" He scooped her right off the bed, heading towards the door. Sure enough she squirmed out of his grip, not about to let anyone see him carrying her. "Now was that so hard?"

            "Yeah, laugh it up. You might have to carry my ass home afterwards, anyway."

**Sakimoto Airfield**

**One Mile Behind Headquarters**

            The jet screeched past overhead, its sonic pulse deafening him as he stood in awe, eyes riveted on the small cluster of sky where white plumes of smoke were still trailing to the earth like a spider's legs. "That may have been the coolest thing I've ever seen."

            "Well I'm glad you like it, Commander Tremont." The speaker was a tall, regal Reploid stallion, but his most notable features were the broad, white, feathered wings on his back. His uniform was white and red, the colors of a high-ranking Repliforce officer, but Repliforce was long dead. Now the Skiver earned his paycheck coordinating a special Reploids-only air unit in the Megacity Army, aptly referred to as the Reploid Air Force. He didn't really mind helping the Hunters, the ones who had led Repliforce to its demise, because his ties to the mother unit had never been all that strong. He'd been something of a trainee back then, and as such it was easy for him to put the past behind him. He did think, however, that the Repliforce pilots under Storm Owl would have given Tremont and his boys a run for their money. "We spent a pretty penny making sure this jet was top of the line. Even your Ravens will be hard-pressed to defeat it."

            "I'll believe that when I see it," responded Alec Tremont, commander of the Hunter air unit. Still, he had to give the horse props. What he had just seen was both the greatest departure from aerial combat he'd ever witnessed, and also one of the sweetest spectacles his eyes had ever beheld. "Though the uses of this jet are very clear. How soon can we expect one?"

            "You can expect one, and I mean one, within the next two weeks if you hustle." The Skiver spoke in a clipped British accent, which made sense considering that he was in fact quite British. "We may have been able to fork over more, but given Signas's disposition towards the Army my superiors have been less than eager to donate to his cause."

            "Understandable," Alec said with a shrug, which translated roughly to _Bullshit, you pussy bureaucrats_! He was a very average looking man, standing at about 5'11 and sporting plain brown hair and plainer brown eyes. In times of cool weather he and his fellows wore black bomber jackets straight out of the movies, complete with the poofs of cotton rimming the edges. This sweaty summer evening, however, he wore merely his uniform; black garb with silver eagle epaulets. He figured it would be best to appear somewhat respectable before the notoriously uptight Spiral Pegasus. "Nice birds," he remarked to the winged stallion in question. "They'll definitely give the bad guys a run for their money."

            "Doubtlessly," the Skiver agreed, watching the small fighter jet land.

            They called the new model the Nighthawk, an improvement over the Hunter Raven on more or less every aspect. The Nighthawk was even more so than the Raven a ride armor capable of flying at jet speeds. While it resembled a conventional jet, it had the capability to slow its speed to an actual hover, making stationary combat possible. Strafing a Maverick infested building had long been a dream of Alec's, and here was his venue for fulfilling that dream. The Nighthawk was equipped with heavy Vulcan cannons and Sidewinder2's, homing missiles equipped with heavily armored tips for use in blasting through walls or other structures to reach the exact desired point of detonation before blowing their tops. Like the Raven, the Nighthawk had a laser weapon that worked almost like a lightsaber, but could be concentrated for use in dissipating force shields if enough birds attacked enough proper locations at once. Alec's favorite feature, however, was the Immolator. The Army aeronautics people had dubbed it the "Cluster Fucker" and Alec was finding that description accurate. Whoever was on the shit end of the Immolator stick was certainly going to have his day ruined. The Nighthawk would first lock onto a target, which could be a building, machine, or even a single human or Reploid and discharge a self-propelled pod that would close in on the target before unleashing a storm of incendiary minimissiles that generally left nothing standing. On one hand it was overkill, but on the other it was nifty as hell. The real beauty of the Immolator was the pod's ability to infiltrate buildings and take out targets inside, rather than wasting perfectly good missiles breaking down the walls. The pods themselves were equipped with self-defense devices, which would detect if an incoming projectile was about to take it out. At that point it would launch its payload, a payload that was composed of homing missiles already locked onto the same target the pod was. Even if the approach failed, the end result sure as hell wouldn't. About the only way to stop the Immolator was a direct blast of EMG. Because of its capacity for carnage, the Immolator was obviously a weapon to be used only in the most extreme of cases, but Alec had no worries about misuse. His people all knew how to minimize collateral damage. There was always some of it, but too much of it was just embarrassing, and if deemed reckless could lead to imprisonment.

            "Bout how hard is it to fly one of those?" asked a Reploid to Alec's left. He wore a uniform similar to Alec's, and had no armor donned on his humanoid form. If Bale ever actually wore armor Alec rarely saw it. In fact he wasn't even sure what his friend's armor looked like. Greenish, he thought.

            "The learning curve for one of your Raven pilots won't be too terribly difficult," the Skiver allowed, most generously they both thought. "I would insist that you take them for many a test run before actually using them, however. You'll probably have more than one before this is all said and done, and I'm sure Signas can find a way to purchase more, but they're still valuable as diamonds. Crash one, and you likely won't be getting a replacement anytime soon."

            "Don't worry," Alec replied, feeling only slightly patronized. "My pilots keep the tray tables up. We haven't had a crash in…well, a very long time."

            "There is a first time for everything, I'll remind you," the Pegasus Reploid pointed out most morosely, turning and walking off the runway with his associates in tow. "And no aircraft is invincible. The Nighthawk's armor is stronger than a Raven's, but nothing's perfect."

            "If things were perfect," Bale pointed out, "we wouldn't have to be here."

            It was a good note to end the meeting on. The Skiver bade them good evening and went back to doing whatever stiff Megacity pilots did before heading home, and the two Hunter pilots returned to the military style jeep that had brought them to the airfield. There was no official unit number for Alec's people, and none of them thought calling themselves "The Pilots" would be any fun. Instead they'd come up with "Steel Wind". It was a name the pilots thought was more than passable, especially since the other units just got crummy numbers to identify themselves. There weren't all that many pilots—fifteen in all, and of them only five were regularly on call. In peacetime, that was usually more than enough. The pilots were used mainly for reconnaissance and quick strikes, and that didn't necessitate a large roster. It was during wartime that Alec wished there were more eyes in the sky. The Mavericks usually tended to launch potent air campaigns, and the Hunters were always pitifully meek in comparison.

            It was no more than a five minute drive back to the base, and there Alec and Bale left the jeep in the garage. The two made their way outside to the front of the base, passing the large garden used as a sort of relaxation point. The old base had sported a garden much for the same purposes, but the pilots and most of their comrades liked this one better. It was a curious mix of conventional Western flora intermingled with a Zen garden on water. A great place to meditate on life's deeper mysteries, Alec thought, or to eat a snow cone.

            "Where are you going now?" Bale asked when his friend turned away from the building entrance.

            "I need gas," Alec explained, brandishing the keys to his sleek red vehicle, a remake of the Corvette of old.

            "You need ass, is more like it." Bale laughed wickedly at Alec's expression. "You still chasing that Steele chick?"

            "Chasing? I think I may have backed her into a corner by now."

            "That's when they're the most dangerous." He smirked and shook his head. "Alec, how _dare _you go and fall in love? You're the antithesis of the old Alec, just for that!"

            "You know, I could have your ass running laps from dusk till dawn, my _friend_."

            And he would, Bale knew, at least a few laps anyway before he called it off, just so he could wear that smug smile of his. But that's why you didn't piss Alec off. It was a hard thing to mess up Alec's perpetual good mood anyway, and usually even then he'd just razz you for a while, but if you really got him going… "Mercy, Lord Tremont. Your chariot awaits."

            Alec snickered as he swung open the driver side door. "That's more like it."

**Esperanza Textile Plant**

**Mazatlàn, Mexico**

            The wealth of resources the organization possessed was truly astounding. They had assets in every nation bound together in the Megacity System, assets that even working undercover still produced favorable results. A perfect example was this textile factory, which had started out as just that. Even now it produced fabrics for sale on the free market, manned by employees of both flesh and steel who wished only to make a day's wages before going home to get drunk, pass out, and start the whole process once again. Their lives were dull, dead-ended and ultimately worthless except to their employers, who reaped the benefits of their workers' efforts.

            They also did as they were told, which was an added benefit to the true controller of Esperanza Textiles. The dyes and chemicals used to color and purify fabric components were many, and all the workers knew was to apply certain amounts of what was given to them. They paid no attention to the other chemicals that were imported into the factory, knowing that to go snooping was a sure fire way to become unemployed. They also knew not to go near the special laboratories, because it was dangerous to both their health and their financial status. They were told that the company developed new and improved formulas for the business in there, and no one really bothered to question this. After all, what the boss man did with his own time and his own money was really not their concern. They had their booze, and they were happy.

            They also had their supervisors, who told them that the security guards were necessary for defense against crack Maverick squads, and who would argue with that? In fact the guards were used to cover the imports of the lesser-known chemicals into the plant and to guard the old man, as the workers called him. These chemicals went unlisted on the official manifest, and nothing was ever made of it. No one knew of any foul play. Esperanza Textiles had long been an upstanding establishment, after all. The police had better things to do than to watch an old cloth mill.

            All in all, it worked out very well for the old man. He'd been a bit skeptical when they'd stationed him here, but he'd found that the process was very efficient indeed. Here was his safe haven. Here he could develop the product he'd been tasked with developing, and now at last it seemed to be completed. The final test results had been most reassuring. He would have preferred a live subject, just to be sure, but the work the product had done on model units appeared to be devastatingly effective. Besides, getting a live subject would have attracted too much attention. People _did _start asking questions when other people went missing, and why press his luck? He was most curious as to whom the product _would _be used on. It would be a miserable fate for those doomed to it, he knew, but that, after all, was the point. Kou Cao wanted to send a message, and Doc Volvar was the one writing that message. He didn't know who the deliverers would be, but he envied them. It would have been so nice to see his hard work in action.

            The workers called him the old man, and it was a fairly accurate description. Volvar was a shorter Reploid with a very slightly hunched back. His hair and beard were both a gray that was trying hard to retain its blonde roots and had the look and feel of steel wool. He wore an old red coat, though it was not really a lab coat, and knew he probably presented the image of a mad old man to the deadbeats making their menial livings outside his lab. The Mavericks had never called him "old man". The Mavericks had respected him, both for his ability to heal almost any wound—he was a doctor, after all—but more so for his ability to _make _almost any wound. Volvar had been a master interrogator in his heyday, before he'd sold out to the Gold Serpent. His crowning achievement was a rather recent one. With the aid of one Boomer Kuwanger, he'd developed a method of torture that presented enough pain to perfectly mimic the effects of a truth serum—the victim's mind would simply not allow them to lie, since a lie would ostensibly bring forth even more pain. Since the said serum was rather easily dealt with, Volvar's method was already seeing practical use within the Serpent's association. Traitors were more deadly now than ever before, since one rat could lead a whole storm of Hunter and Army personnel to a vital base of operations, and thus traitors needed to be unearthed at any cost.

            But this current project was designed to make those two particular nuisances regret their intrusion into the Serpent's business. Volvar didn't actually know that for certain, but it didn't take a genius to put two and two together. He'd just finished development of a weapon that had been deemed top priority by the Serpent himself. What use might a top priority weapon see other than a top priority mission? And given the nature of the weapon, and who it could specifically target, Volvar had a feeling the Maverick Hunters in particular would be getting a nasty sting in the near future.

            It may have even started already, the renegade doctor thought as he walked towards his phone. He'd seen that mess in Moscow on the news, and they'd just confirmed that two top Hunters were dead. He himself frowned at the display of violence. Volvar preferred subtle methods to the raging carnage he'd seen on the television. There were so many better ways to skin a cat, he knew, but there was also more than way to send a message and this, he had to admit, was definitely one of them. But if two Hunters were dead, and if his boss indeed had some hand in it—which suddenly struck him as doubtful, since Kou Cao didn't yet have all that much power in the European Union—then that probably meant that more such dominos were soon to fall.

            He dialed a number and waited. His was a secure line, different from the ones used in the rest of the plant. He patched into a relay, and was forwarded to his target audience. He had no need to identify himself, since Control could trace all calls coming to it.

            "What's your status, my good sir?" asked a sickeningly cheerful voice on the other end.

            "It is done," Volvar said, before his correspondent could continue. "The latest formula is a success, and I have produced several samples."

            There was a slight pause at the other end. "Done? Well, I'll be damned…" The man got even more confident, letting out a triumphant laugh. "Nice work, Dr. Death! I might have to buy you a beer!"

            "I don't drink," the scientist lied. If he stayed in the same place with this one too long he'd go insane. "My orders were to reproduce the successful formula until our supply was worth exporting. Do those orders still stand?"

            "Well I don't know. Would you like them to?"

            "Dynamo, can you be serious for just one damn moment in your life?"

            That hit a nerve. "Don't begrudge my professionalism, old man," the Control officer replied with just the slightest hint of acid. "Yes, the orders stand. When you have the required amount of the product, let us know. But before we get to that, how does it work?"

            "It works well." Doc Volvar left it at that. He was not about to get into a scientific explanation with this idiot at the other end. "I enjoyed full success on the replicated systems in the lab. A live Reploid would have been nice, but there were too many complications."

            "Oh, I trust a live Reploid or two will be enjoying your lovely new air freshener soon enough," Dynamo opined, reverting back to his cheeky, omniscient tone. "It'll definitely make them regret the Bangor Bust and all the merchandise they took from us there. Now, uh…what are you going to call it?"

            Volvar had thought long and hard about that one. "Nexnecis."

            "What? That sounds like an indigestion medicine!"

            "No." _You fool_, he managed not to say. "It's simple and subtle, Dynamo. _Nex necis_ is a Latin term meaning 'to kill'."

            "Murder."

            "…Yes, you could say that." Volvar himself thought of murder as a strike against the innocent. The people who would be exposed to Nexnecis would hardly be innocent, and thus he didn't exactly feel like a murderer. But some might disagree with that, he thought with a little smirk. "Anyhow, given the plant's resources I expect to have a suitable amount by this weekend."

            Dynamo privately rejoiced. It was only Monday. That gave him a week to plan the collection. It didn't have to be anything big, but security would have to be absolutely perfect. If they were busted carrying Nexnecis, there wasn't much they could do to explain their way out of that. But he'd manage. He'd show the damn quack how serious he could be. "Then I'll contact you later in the week to confirm an actual date. When that day cometh, Doc, you'll need to leave with the weapon. The Boss has other work for you."

            That was fine with Volvar. He didn't like Mexican food all that much. "I can't wait."

            "Good work ethic!" Dynamo praised. "Though let me give you one suggestion. Take a Viagra."

            "_What_?!"

            "Yeah, man. Take a Viagra. That way you'll have an excuse for being such a stiff."

            Volvar hung up, still staring at the receiver in something bordering both disbelief and disgust. Dynamo never failed to amaze him with immaturity, though the scientist had a feeling it was all a show. It would be easy, he knew, to underestimate a man like that, and it had been a fatal mistake for more than one person. Dynamo was as crafty and cunning as he was cocky. But that didn't mean Volvar had to like him.

            So, he had about one more week…then he could finally get away from this place, and the real fun could begin. He didn't imagine that the Boss would waste time. If he knew Chartreuse, then someone—probably Guyver—would soon be rounding the globe setting the stage for something big. He did wish he could see Nexnecis in action. He wanted to see the look in the victim's eyes as the weapon ran its course. It would be a horrible endeavor, and thus a perfect punishment. He hoped they used it wisely. He knew whom he personally would use it on.

            …But no, that wasn't right, was it? Doc Volvar let a very slight but rather fond smile crease his weather-beaten features, leaning back in his revolving chair. He didn't exactly want to kill that one. Not anymore. She was far too intriguing for him, far too much…_fun_ to kill. She had fought hard for life during their last meeting, but life could be more of a curse than death, and Volvar could prove it for her. He almost had. It had come to pass that—rather perversely, he thought—the torturer had established a dark bond with the victim. He remembered warmly the thought of staring into his prey's motionless eyes, knowing the pain that registered beneath them and smugly knowing also that she could never express that pain. She'd been totally paralyzed while Volvar had worked his magic, developing his new "truth serum"…she couldn't even scream.

            And yet, she had survived, he knew, and continued to serve at the head of a Hunter unit. It hadn't seemed fair to the scientist at first. If anyone deserved a death, it was a Hunter commander, but this one had not only escaped death but also had further slapped her tormentors in the face by killing Boomer Kuwanger with her own hands. One could argue she certainly had the justification for a little violence at that moment, but to Volvar it was just one more sin on a laundry list that would eventually merit final judgment. How he would _love _to be the one to give it to her. She was strong, stronger than anyone he'd ever encountered in his line of work. To break her spirit would be the ultimate challenge…and the ultimate amusement. Where was Commander Damia now, he wondered? What would she do if she saw him again?

            "Well that's easy," he answered himself aloud. "She'd fucking kill me."

            And that was the big problem. His frail body was not combat effective, and he'd have to take her when she was helpless. He thought of it less cowardice than practicality. If she was dumb enough to get caught, she could face the consequences. Given the right set of controls he could fix things so there would be little to no threat to his own life. But Chartreuse himself had forbidden Doc Volvar to even consider such things, seeking to keep his premier scientist hidden and safe. Even Dynamo would have told Volvar to back off, though he'd probably appreciate the audacity of the idea. It was that practicality issue again, holding him back while before it let him move freely.

            But he supposed it was not worth thinking about. A pleasant fantasy, maybe, but he had work to do, and daydreaming did not get the work done any faster. He now had to set up the individual production tanks to generate more of Nexnecis based on the formula he'd just perfected. That could be done by the end of the day, he reasoned. Then tomorrow he could start actual production. A few days later and it would be time to leave Esperanza Textiles behind him and move on to whatever other great mission the Boss had up his sleeve.

            He wouldn't allow himself to forget about his daydreams forever, though. And even if he couldn't carry them out he hoped his past actions would do the work for him. Wherever Damia was he hoped she still saw his face in her nightmares. To be forgotten by his victim would be an almost unbearable insult, though he doubted she'd have trouble remembering him.

            And maybe someday, he thought with an indulging smile, he would get to refresh her memory. Just in case.

            "It's sort of a mix," Douglas said to Caligula, pointing to the sheet of missile diagrams in front of him. "The smaller craters match up with any number of these brands of miniature torpedoes, most of them with homing capability. It's the crater in the street that's the interesting one."

            "How so?" Caligula asked, looking around the mechanic's cluttered office with thoughts of pure distaste. His own office was in pristine shape, which made sense given that he probably had more paperwork to organize than any other Hunter.

            "The crater is deep, deeper than the others. Unless it was fired from the air, then we're looking at a launcher with a pretty damn good propulsion system." He slid his finger over to an image of a missile that reminded Caligula of a small battering ram. "My guess, it was the Dozer." It was a fitting name for the weapon, which tended to reduce even the strongest armor to shreds.

            "Or something like it," Caligula affirmed with a slow breath. "But the propulsion—and sheer energy reserves—needed to fire a Dozer with some semblance of control are too much for a Reploid to maintain. You'd need a larger mechaniloid of some sort, or just a tank, and there was nothing like that sighted."

            Douglas just shrugged. It wasn't his fault if it didn't make sense. "'Tis just my prognosis, Cal. I don't claim to know what actually happened, but even if you find someone who does, does it matter all that much? Two top Hunters are gone. I'd be more concerned about the why than the how."

            Caligula managed to hold his tongue—he hardly needed to be reminded how to do the job he'd been doing for years. "Everything is being taken into account, Douglas, and everything can make a difference. Suppose there is now an easier way to transport and fire Dozer missiles. Wouldn't it be nice to know that before sending the troops into a situation where they may learn about it the hard way?"

            Douglas shrugged again. "You're the spook. Whatever's the case, there was a missile attack and, if these reports are correct, a high-powered laser was also involved. I can't tell you any more about that from just images—I'd need the actual weapon specs. Whoever they were, they were quick, they were well-armed, and they weren't concerned with keeping quiet."

            The intelligence boss nodded in concession to that. "And we still don't know who they are. You'd think the Mavericks would learn by now that they're just making things worse for themselves." It had to be the Mavericks, after all. They were the only culprits that really made sense. The question now was which Mavericks and were they up to something more than simple assassinations?

            "Well, it's an issue for another day." Douglas leaned back and gestured to the pot on his desk. "Coffee?"

            "No, thank you. I won't be awake long enough to need it." Even on a day as active as this, there was still very little for the Invisible Men to analyze. The real information would come in a few days, when the on-site analyses were complete. Caligula thanked Douglas and left the mechanic's office and the east wing itself. He passed through the lounge in the central building, where he found an athletically built blonde man doing a crossword while comfortably seated on one of the numerous blue couches. "Still battling the infernal squares, Kevin?"

            "Five letter word for a blink," Kevin Seitz replied, chewing on his pencil in thought, "also a rude gesture."

            "Flash."

            "It's not my fault I don't have a thesaurus programmed into my circuits," Kevin said immediately, filling in the squares. "Matter of fact I don't have circuits, just this shitty gray mass squirming around in my skull full of little veins that can explode whenever the hell they feel ripe and kill me for sport."

            "Oh, that happened to me last year. Hell of a headache, but nothing compared to when your toes jump off your feet and brandish plungers and beat you to death in your sleep."

            "That _is _a bother." Both were avid Monty Python fans, and too much British humor was and is clinically proven to warp the brain. "So what's the take on Moscow?"

            "Boom?"

            "I guess that does sum it up, don't it. More work for us, I suppose?"

            "Always, Kevin, always."

            The two Intel officers both glanced to the right as two other figures passed through the lounge. Both were young Reploids. The woman was slightly shorter, and had her icy blue hair tied back in a ponytail that reached down between her shoulders. The man was fairly nondescript, except for his strikingly silver eyes, eyes that perfectly matched the armor he wore in battle. Kevin only paid them enough attention to identify them and returned to his crossword. Caligula, however, knew that he was being watched and watched right back, nodding to the man in a show of politeness. The nod was returned and the couple passed out of sight, though the man hadn't been able to hide the slight unease that came over him during the encounter.

            "When are you going to tap that one?" Kevin asked, without looking up from the puzzle.

            "When I'm positive he has what it takes," Caligula replied to his lieutenant, his gaze lingering at the doorway where his target had disappeared.

            "You've watched his training for months now," Kevin protested. "French word for seal."

            "_Phoque._ And I'm not sure—"

            "_Phoque_? Like 'fu—'"

            "Yes, _phoque_, just like it sounds."

            Kevin blinked. "Well I'll be. Anyway, you've been watching him for months. Aren't you sure yet?"

            "There are still complications," Caligula admitted. "His psychological profile isn't all that sparkling at the moment. Though it strongly depends on who you ask."

            "Meaning?"

            Caligula leaned against the back of the couch, resisting the urge to fall asleep on his feet. Only a little longer, he told himself. "Dr. Trask says he's made significant progress, but that girlfriend of his is dead set against him returning to combat."

            Kevin paused, drumming the eraser against the page. "You think they know?"

            "Of course they know, they're just not sure _what_ they know. That's the beauty of Aegis. It's a matter of waiting for the right time to recruit them, just like with Castle and the others. Something'll happen to make him desire a special kind of power, and we'll be able to provide it."

            "It's like hunting your own comrades," Kevin observed morosely. "Three letter word for—"

            "Yak," Caligula replied, having already read the question. "Yes, but name one person who's been worse for the wear by joining Aegis."

            "One day, one of them is going to die, Caligula." The pronouncement, while already a fact accepted by both of them, deadened the air nonetheless. "It's inevitable."

            "I know…"

            "They take on operations that would make even Zero's people tell Signas to go screw a wall socket if they were assigned to them."

            "I _know_. But they know the risks, and it's not like they can't drop out. And if we notice they're not up to par then we _kick _them out." Caligula was very adamant about that. Though Seitz didn't know it, someone had _already_ died in Aegis, but that incident—and the identity of the agent—was a secret kept tighter than the secret of the unit itself. "But that's why I'm taking my time, Kevin. If we're not careful, who knows what could go wrong?"

            "Yeah. Especially if the Mavericks decide to get antsy again…or maybe they just did. Four letter word for prophecy?"

            Before he answered Caligula let his eyes stray to the television set on the wall, which still played media coverage of the damaged blocks in Moscow. The fires were out but it was still clearly a scene of chaos. A shiver went down the intelligence chief's spine, and though he damned superstition for doing it to him he nonetheless couldn't deny the irony of the moment.

            "Omen, Kevin. The word is omen."

            Vulcan had been seeing a lot of omens himself recently, and none of them struck him as all that happy. This last one, the brief encounter with Caligula and Seitz in the lounge, didn't serve to make him all that comfortable at all. The spook boss had seen him, had acknowledged him, had _known _him, and that was a very weird feeling indeed. There was a mystique of sorts about Caligula, since no one ever really knew what he and his people were up to at any given moment, and Signas wouldn't even let X and Zero in on some of the spy's secret projects.

            It wasn't as though this were the first time, either. Vulcan trained long and often, and more than once had seen Caligula in one of the observation booths casually monitoring his progress. He'd put on good shows for the Intel chief, but couldn't help but feel scrutinized, as though Caligula were turning him over like an apple to determine if there were any wormholes. While solid facts about Caligula were few and far between the speculation was certainly plentiful. So, Vulcan had at least some idea of what might be going on.

            The secret wasn't as closely guarded as it should have been. Unit commanders knew about the hidden unit, and word had spread to the seconds. They kept their mouths relatively shut, but even they couldn't hide logical guesses about where certain unit members suddenly disappeared to. Vulcan didn't know the name "Aegis" but he knew that certain Hunters were suspected of associating with the spooks, chief among them being Castle and Acrystos of Unit 8. The two, partners in both their social and battlefield lives, would not confirm anything, but would occasionally tell a story of "weird missions" they'd been on. Other fingers were being pointed at Scylla, a particularly haunting member of X's 17th, but Vulcan wasn't around her enough to know if or how she discounted the rumors.

            As to what exactly this secret unit did, Vulcan could not guess. It seemed to him that anything that needed to be done quietly could be handed to Units 8 or 0. The need for a totally black unit suggested deeds that maybe went above and beyond the normal call of duty for a Maverick Hunter, and Vulcan wasn't sure he liked the vagaries of that.

            "Oh, settle down, will you?" Krysta shook her head and sighed as they left the lounge. "You freak out every time you see that ghoul."

            Vulcan smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I know. But you'd be weirded out too if Caligula kept stalking _you_."

            "After all you've done, you've got no business getting punked out by a desk weenie." Krysta grinned, her light blue eyes glinting mischievously. "Or did I underestimate you?"

            "Please." Vulcan smiled back, watching her brush her hair out of her face. He didn't have that problem, thank God, and he didn't see how Zero and every other man with long hair could stand it. His own mane was shortly cropped and black, conventional in comparison to Krysta's icy blue strands. She'd been right, he knew—he _had _seen a lot. They both had. It was up to their eyes to tell the tale, however, since they both presented a youthful aura. Both were styled as late teenagers, and being machines that would never really change.

            Vulcan was as young as he looked. He'd joined the Hunters about two years ago without putting much thought into it. After being accepted into the 5th Unit under Commander Archer he'd met his current crop of friends and started down a typical road for a young Hunter, training himself up to fighting capacity.

            Then came Seraph Castle, and everything typical ended.

            Vulcan's first real test had been a surprise mission to assassinate Sigma, who had kindly made himself available for killing. Vulcan didn't take the shot but did take the credit, and this wave of fame carried him into battle again with elites, this time against Blast Hornet and a deadly swordswoman on the top of a speeding train. That had predictably ended badly for the inexperienced Hunter, and he'd been spared future combat until the actual battle for Megacity 5 came about. Here he'd come a little unglued. Surrounded by total war, a fact made all the worse by the knowledge that a nuke had just exploded nearby, he'd seen friends die and had even been smeared in the remains of one, something that still haunted his nightmares.

            After the uprising, Vulcan had experienced a difficult time readapting to a peacetime world. Archer made him see a shrink named Trask, and Vulcan didn't care who the hell you were, if your name was Trask then you were evil. Anyway, Evil Doctor Trask had admittedly made some progress, and Krysta had done the rest. Vulcan was fortunate enough to have a good circle of friends including Rykov, a fellow unit member, and even Alec Tremont of Steel Wind. Vulcan was now more or less able to function as a normal member of society though he still experienced some moments of what he could only describe as…well, paranoia plus something else. But now was not one of these moments, and so he wasn't going to dwell on it.

            They came to the west wing, where most of the Hunters had already cleared out. There was one training room still in use, however, and the two Reploids sneaked into the observation booth to watch the dueling opponents.

            In the left corner, a tall, well built Reploid in red and blue armor sported a large machine gun and ducked behind obstacles to guard against the stun beams flying at him. Rykov, demo expert of the 5th Unit.

            In the right corner, a red and white Reploid armored in a style that was very vaguely American Indian. He was also of powerful build and carried a blaster so big he had to rest it on his shoulders. Hawkins, second in command and the superior of Rykov, Vulcan and Krysta.

            "So what now, Jack Sparrow?" Hawkins taunted in a scratchy accent as his attack ceased. "Are we to be two immortals locked in an epic battle until judgment day and the trumpets sound?"

            "Or you could surrender," Rykov finished the quote, popping up and unloading with a quick burst of stun beams. Hawkins threw himself down behind cover just in time, but the SiC wasn't done just yet. He rolled out from his hiding spot, catching Rykov off guard and driving him down with a burst of heavy fire.

            "You're off the edge of the map that mother made!" Hawkins chortled as he leapt to his feet and rushed Rykov's position. "Here, there be monsters!"

            No sooner had the words left his mouth then someone swept his feet out from under him. He landed hard on his rump and glared up at the intruder. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?"

            "I am Will Turner," Vulcan declared loudly. "And I'm stealing this duel."

            "Commandeering," Rykov corrected, getting to his feet. "No big deal, we stopped being serious a long time ago. Hawk killed me about fifteen minutes before you showed up."

            "Rykov, you pussy!" Krysta said accusingly. "If you're letting a girl like Hawkins beat you, what's the world come to?"

            "Don't you go oppressing me!" Hawkins yelped in his best high-pitched voice, getting to his feet. He grinned at the assembled trio before him, for they were indeed a trio. Vulcan, Rykov and Krysta were rarely seen apart from each other, except when Rykov was off chasing Seri, a spunky new addition to Unit 5. Apparently he and Alec Tremont had a sort of silent rivalry going as to who could find a girlfriend first. Hawkins rooted of course for his teammate Rykov, but Alec had been seeing that Steele girl for a while now. Perhaps it was a lost cause. "So what's the plan for tonight, Miss Swan?" he addressed Krysta, the usual leader of the posse.

            "Sex, drugs and rock and roll!" she replied, pumping a fist in the air and then slowly lowering it. "Minus the sex and the drugs. Being a Reploid bites."

            "Eh, it has its perks," Rykov countered, flexing an arm that, if it hadn't been made of metal, would have been snapped on countless occasions already. "What about you, big man? What's planned for this long Monday night?"

            "Sleep, that's what." Hawkins shook his head. "You all are nuts. Monday nights are for resting…after all, the rest of the week is for working. Besides, tomorrow I'm probably gonna have to go over a shitload of security lectures. Some Hunter chief got hit in Moscow," he explained.

            "Jesus," Vulcan was the first to observe. "A chief? As in, commander?"  
            "So far as we know it's an isolated incident," Hawkins nodded. "But that's all that Archer told me, and to keep you people on alert just in case it's not so isolated. But that doesn't mean shoot at anything that moves, Mr. Paranoia!"

            "Who, me?" Vulcan asked innocently. Of all his superiors, Hawkins was his favorite. Archer was a good guy, but too immersed in the upper echelons to really click with each of his considerable number of soldiers. Hawkins on the other hand worked as much with Vulcan as possible, partially to restore Vulcan to full fighting capability but also because they just got along. Hawkins had given Vulcan invaluable advice as far as dealing with his combat nightmares, since Hawkins had a few of those himself, and for that Vulcan would be in his debt. What better way to repay the favor than to pull through and continue kicking all manner of ass?  
            "Later, Hawk," Krysta said, spiriting Vulcan and Rykov away. "Come on, Seri's waiting!"

            "Who?" Rykov asked, the picture of innocent incomprehension.

            Hawkins watched them go and allowed himself a good stretch. He disarmed and left the training room in street clothes, heading for his quarters. He fully intended to sleep, he really did, just as soon as he finished watching _Jackass._ In the past the show hadn't been what Hawkins would consider entertainment, but now the show paid civilians to do stunts rather than using hired hosts, and Hawkins found it endlessly amusing watching society's idiots kill themselves off. Then he'd sleep, and he'd rise again to repeat the cycle of training and paperwork and more training and more paperwork, on and on and day after day. But he supposed it could be worse. He could be poor and desperate enough to be on _Jackass_.

**Moscow, Attack Scene**

            The fires were all out now, which was a relief to everyone involved in the operation. However one horror begat another, and now came the process of removing the bodies. Many of the dead had been simply vaporized either by being too close to a detonating missile or catching the full brunt of one of the lasers. The only plus was that the damage was mostly confined to only one city block, but even so it seemed excessive for what appeared to be a straight assassination.

            One man at the edge of the scene was pondering that last bit very carefully. Whoever had done this had wanted to send a message of some sort, and that had perked his attention. Normally he didn't bother himself with investigating Moscow street crime—after all, he knew about most of it before it happened—but the scale of the attack had given rise to a sort of professional curiosity. Then he'd learned that top Hunters were dead, and that had to mean something.

            So here he was now, observing with his own eyes what he'd seen on television. He was by physical accounts an average looking man, standing 5'10 with neck length dark brown hair tucked neatly behind his ears. He had the build of a man who was in shape and nothing more than that, a useful deception in many cases. The only remarkable thing about him was the fact that his eyes were different colors.

            One of the police officers saw him standing there and approached quickly, waving a hand in dismissal. "Sorry, sir, we need to ask you to stand back."

            "Don't think that I'm a danger to your operation, Grigoriy," the man replied, very casually. "I came to help."

            "Oh…Gospodin Stralnikov." Grigoriy stepped back in slight embarrassment. "I did not realize it was you, sir."

            While physically unremarkable, the man carried himself in a way that let everyone around him know that he was someone important. Standing there in his long black trench coat, guarding against the slight chill, and leaning on his long black eagle's-head cane Vladimir Stralnikov simply looked like a force to be reckoned with. He looked like a young man, but the force of his expressions and character spoke of considerable age. In fact he was going on fifteen years now, an insignificant age for a human but a milestone for a Reploid. It marked him as one of the originals. He'd been around since almost the very beginning. Just as he was not a human, neither was Vlad Stralnikov really an energen mining baron, as his official profile stated. True, he had his own personal mine, but it was really just a front. He was involved in far darker things than mines.

            "Never mind, Grigoriy," he said to the policeman. "Where is Detective Richter? I need to speak to him."

            "This way, sir," the cop replied, leading the way. Stralnikov followed him through the mess of rescue workers and rubble, observing the scene with a fairly indifferent stare. Scenes of carnage no longer fazed him. After all, he'd created some mighty big ones himself. At first glance he judged that the Dozer missile variant had seen some use on the street, but that would require a launcher of some power. Surely they hadn't started building those in Reploids?

            Detective Hans Richter was a short but solid man in his middle fifties. His hair was blonde and thinning to gray, including the bushy mustache that lined his upper lip. He started towards Stralnikov as soon as he saw him. "Thank you, Grigoriy," he said, dismissing the junior officer and looking to the businessman. "Quite a scene here, Vlad. Please tell me you didn't have anything to do with this?"

            A smile formed almost instinctively on the businessman's lips at the simple suggestion of the deed. "Not this time, Hans. These Hunters help me more than they hurt me." Which was true. Like many underworld figures, the Stralnikov family had made extensive donations to charities and housing projects, and also certain members of the local Hunter echelon, though for reasons that weren't publicized. Buying out his enemies was to Stralnikov a wonderful dose of irony, for he still indeed thought of them as his enemies. But for the moment, they had a common goal, and it would be foolish to divide their powers until after this particular storm blew over. "Are there any suspects?"

            "Mavericks, of course." Richter scratched the back of his neck absently, not bothering to stifle the coming yawn. "They have been known to spring up occasionally in violence during peacetime. If there's any major plot going on, someone will figure it out as more incidents turn up. They always do."

            Stralnikov nodded. He knew that very well. That was why he liked to keep his own operations very quiet. The less the Hunters knew, the easier it was to work around them. For while they had the same goals, the devoted followers of Signas would never condone Stralnikov's methods. And that, he thought, was a crying shame. "Are you aware that there have indeed been other incidents?"

            Richter's eyebrow rose. He often learned as much from Stralnikov as the businessman learned from him. He'd made some of his most impressive captures only after Stralnikov surrendered the whereabouts of the criminals. "What incidents are you talking about?"

            Stralnikov glanced towards Rovanin Park, which had been largely untouched by the chaos. A few trees had burned due to their position in the line of fire, but otherwise it seemed like the only peaceful place in Moscow tonight.

            Richter followed his gaze and knew what was being thought. "Don't let it fool you, Vlad. They found pieces of Revenant's armor there. If anything, that's where the poor bastard was vaporized."

            "So he's dead, then?" Stralnikov took that as a mixed blessing. Revenant was a huge ally against the combined enemy, but in future might have proved bothersome.

            "We assume so." Richter shrugged. "It's no big deal if he isn't…reprogramming jobs are way too complicated for most people to do right. And even if they succeed, he's just one Reploid."

            Stralnikov wasn't sure Revenant would agree that losing one's mental identity was "no big deal" but it was rather out of his hands, and why worry about such things? "All this for two Reploids…?"

            "Looks that way. Assassination. That, or Revenant just cornered the wrong hood. Now what about those other incidents you were talking about?"

            Stralnikov remained silent for a few seconds, deciding how much he should say. Well, best to start with what was already public. "There seems to have been an attack in North Ireland…at about the same time as this incident here."

            "Any correlation?" the detective asked at once.

            "Other than timing, no. A gunship of the Coast Patrol was sunk, most violently I'm told, and there aren't many survivors."

            "Two violent incidents in one night…you can't tell me there isn't something fishy about that."

            Stralnikov shrugged. "Perhaps, but what can we know now? I have someone on scene looking into the matter." And now it was time to let Richter in on something a little more secret, he decided. "Two weeks ago a Megacity Army base in Alaska was attacked by unknown militants."

            Richter lit up a cigarette and offered one to Stralnikov, who declined with a half-nod. "You're shitting me. A _base_?"

            "A base." Stralnikov ran his gloved fingertips over the elaborate silver eagle's head carved at the top of his long ebon cane. He carried it everywhere with him, both for what it added to his image as well as its other practical uses. "The militants were guerillas. They bombed fuel reserves to set off a chain of explosives before vanishing. None were caught. The Army responded too late, as usual."

            "Covered up?"

            "Naturally. They pinned it on Maverick dissidents and never disclosed full information to the public."

            "And now there was an attack in both the System and the Union…" Richter was good at making connections. "You don't suppose someone's trying to pit them against each other?"

            "It's possible. I doubt much could come of such a scheme, though." At least, he hoped so. Another world war would likely bring civilization to its knees. To some, like the Mavericks, this would be a godsend, a chance for them to seize control and build the world from the ground up. To Stralnikov, it would just an awful waste of resources. There were better ways to build empires, as the Gold Serpent had proved. "How much do you know?"

            "Only what I've told you." Richter shrugged again. "Feel free to have a look for yourself. Doubt you'll find much."

            "Leave no stone left unturned, my friend. Have a nice night." Stralnikov smiled and headed for the crater in the street. He crouched down and cross referenced the new pothole with others he'd seen in his long career, frowning deeply as he did so. Truly, powerful forces had been at work tonight. The miner baron took a handful of residue from the crater, knowing that tiny fragments of the explosive would still remain. The authorities would be running similar tests, but Stralnikov's people worked far faster than any policeman. Even so he'd cross-reference his findings with Richter's. It was so useful having the detective on his payroll. You learned the most interesting things from those who were in positions of trust.

            His internal communicator went off at that moment. Being a Reploid had many advantages—long life, good health, and built-in cell phones. "Stralnikov here."

            "'Allo, Vladdy!" The voice had a heavy Australian accent. "We're neck deep in the scat this time, mate."

            "Always nice to hear, Zade." Stralnikov couldn't help but smile. Zade was the most eccentric person in his employ, but also one of the most efficient. "What have you found…?"

            "Message traffic between known Serpent operatives has been booming lately, and tonight was no different. I reckon they knew something was going to happen, whether they did it or not."

            "Have you tracked onto any specific orders yet?" Modern technology was so wonderful, Stralnikov knew. You could tap into pretty much any communication device if you just had the right key…and that was why every single such device Vladimir himself used was carefully designed and encrypted by his genius wife herself.

            "Nothin' about sinkin' British boats or treatin' the Russkies to a relapse of good old Two," Zade replied, referring to the Second World War when German troops had come storming towards Moscow, only to be repelled by fierce resistance and bitter winter cold. "But the night is young, mate, and the coffee is bountiful! If there's something to find, we'll find it." His tone grew a little more serious. "So, what about you? You really think it's our old bud?"

            "It's possible," Stralnikov allowed. "The Serpent certainly has reason to strike out at the Hunters…but his arm will have grown long indeed if he can strike them in the heart of the Union. I'd rather not consider that as a possibility." That, after all, would mean that the Black Ankh was on its way to failure, and failure was something they could not afford at any cost. "Whoever it was, they knew how to make an entrance. And an exit. There's not a trace of evidence except the flames."

            "Any word from the Missus yet? I'd sure love to know the deal on them boats, and CNN isn't giving me anything except rehashed Moscow dribble."

            "Never trust CNN for news of import," Stralnikov replied firmly. "I'll get back to you when Anya responds. Monitor the feed until then."

            "Aye aye, cap-i-tan!"

            Stralnikov killed the connection and stood up. So, perhaps Chartreuse was up to his old tricks again. It was certainly about time. The Serpent had been too quiet for too long, and in Stralnikov's experience that meant something big was in the making. The trouble with Kou Cao was that you never knew how big "big" might be. It could be something painfully subtle with extreme rewards, or it could be as horrendous and showy as a nuclear explosion.

            A device resembling a cellular phone started beeping in the inside pocket of his trench coat. Stralnikov removed it and unfolded it to reveal not a phone but a datapad, a device akin to a pager.

            CIVILIAN SHIP SEA KING, CP RESOLUTE SANK.

            SPARTAN LIONFISH UNACCOUNTED FOR.

            RETURNING TO 607.992

            —T

            And for Vlad Stralnikov, that was worth a shiver. His wife had departed for Rathlin Island itself to survey the crime scene, and her information was much better than what the news agencies provided. The names _Sea King _and _Resolute _didn't mean anything to him, but he knew of Spartan Lionfish, the scourge of the Maverick deep-sea forces. Now he had gone missing, and there was also the possibility that Revenant, the number one Hunter in Russia, had vanished as well. Two unusually powerful Reploids had just been removed from the playing field…

            …Now wasn't _that _familiar.

            Sufficiently unnerved for one evening, the energen tycoon left the scene, nodding to Richter and Grigoriy as he did so. He walked one street away to a small black car. Waiting for him in the front seat listening to live pirated radio feeds was a haggard looking man in plainclothes with an untamed head of thick black hair. "Nothing new in radio land, chief."

            "There probably won't be anything more for a while now." Stralnikov hopped into the passenger seat and shut the door. "Let's just get someplace where we can think this over."

            "Where to?"

            "Teretenov's warehouse," Stralnikov replied, referring to point 607.992. Anya Stralnikova would be waiting there. His wife traveled using an encoded teleportation signal that seriously complicated any attempt to pinpoint her specific identity, and sometimes it even blurred the reality that anyone was teleporting at all. It was very useful for these kinds of "phantom trips" where the messenger went someplace for a very brief time and vanished just as quickly.

            "The encoded beam again?" The driver shook his head and started the engine. "You place too much stock in codes, Malevex. Codes can be broken."

            "That's why we change them, Diavus. Just as the Serpent does. We copy his moves, and improve on them."

            "Then let's hope we're not copying his mistakes along with his successes," the ever-pessimistic Diavus responded tiredly, driving towards the warehouse on the Moscow outskirts. From there they would probably rent a hotel and head back home to Yekaterinberg in the morning. They could teleport, but what Diavus said did have some merit, and to reduce risk they teleported only when absolutely necessary.

            The Reploid calling himself Vlad Stralnikov rested his head against the back of the seat as they left the scene of the crime. They indeed could not afford to copy their enemy's mistakes. They'd made enough mistakes themselves in the past, and if they hoped to survive they could make no more. The Black Ankh _had _to be successful. They remained the only sizable group to successfully resist the encroaching Gold Serpent crime network, and if they fell then the great traitor Chartreuse would be able to ferret his way into all levels of every organization on earth. Then none of them would be safe. They had to come out on top, no matter what they had to do to get there.

            …And the spouses Stralnikov were known for doing some pretty extreme things when necessity required them.

            Perhaps the time had come for Black Ankh to show its stones, Stralnikov thought. That was fine with him. For over a year now they'd built themselves up, and a successful stand might win them more allies. If more people started to believe that Kou Cao could be resisted, then they would naturally stand more wholly against him. More and more Stralnikov was coming to believe that some kind of public spectacle was needed to convince them of this. The miner baron smiled, somewhat ominously. With any luck, the way things were going, the other players in the deadly game of world power would accomplish that for him. All he had to do was watch, wait and make the popcorn. And that was perfectly fine with him. He'd fought and bled against Chartreuse in the past while the Hunters had merely thrown the occasional stone.

            Now it was their turn to bleed.


	4. Gold Venom

**Chapter 2—Gold Venom**

_From: KouCao_

_To: Helm_

_RE: It's Time_

_Our new toy has been removed from Esperanza, but more Nexnecis is still being produced in Plants B and C. We'll soon have enough for the main event, but we're more than ready for the preliminaries._

_Guyver, do your thing. I'm sick of standing around with my thumbs up my ass waiting for the Hunters to stop picking on us. It's time to make things perfectly clear to them that when you mess with a snake, you can get bitten hard. The targets have been confirmed and their locations secured. The Hunters will soon learn that their upper echelons are no longer safe. Our Ally has gone out of his way to arrange this unity of forces—a unity that, I admit, looks a lot more promising than I first suspected—and now it's about time we showed him we know how to play ball just as well as he does._

_So…let it begin. The damage we got those Terrornova clowns to inflict will be nothing compared to what we may achieve this time. This time it won't just be Megacity 5 burning—the whole damn planet can burn with it. But enough melodrama…have yourself a merry little conspiracy, take your vitamins, and don't sit too close to the TV.     –C_

***

**Chicago, Illinois**

            Pizzeria Uno, it was called, sitting rather innocently on a corner in Chicago's busy inner city. Outside it looked like a smallish restaurant in comparison with some of the flashier ones out there but the prices inside spoke differently. But all in all, its patrons knew, it was a small price to pay for the goodness that was the original Chicago deep-dish pizza.

            Carlos Sanchez hadn't forgotten this, and since he was rarely off in his meal choices his partner didn't argue. The partner in question, Victor Zokas, sat down across from his longtime acquaintance and ordered a Coca-Cola from the waitress. Carlos preferred Sprite. The pizza itself would take a while, and by then their third companion would be present.

            Victor looked at his gold watch with the slightest smile. "He's gonna be late."

            "Fashionably," Carlos agreed, pretending to skim through the menu. It must be something important. Their contact never wasted time with melodrama unless there was something major going on.

            Victor sighed, knitting his fingers behind his head and leaning back in the booth. One thing he hated about his job was the awkward silences that came while they waited for food. Carlos was content to sit and think to himself all the damn time, but Victor liked a dialogue. They'd worked together for years now, but Victor hadn't accustomed himself to all his friend's—he supposed they were friends—habits.

            Fortunately the two humans didn't have to wait long. Their contact, a short, conservatively dressed man, entered the restaurant and walked towards them with his free arm outstretched as though to greet a longtime friend. The other hand clutched a black suitcase. Victor and Carlos played up the image, greeting the man with smiles when in fact all three of them wanted this to be over with as soon as possible. Meeting in public was necessary and not even all that dangerous, but it still put men such as these on guard.

            Victor predictably was the first to speak. "Afternoon, Mr. Helm. Good flight?"

            "About what could be expected," Helm responded in a tone that was casual yet still somehow businesslike. He took a sip of water before continuing. "So is there anything out of the ordinary going on around here?"

            That meant, _are we being followed?_ Carlos folded up the menu and shook his head. "Everything's pretty boring."

            "Let's change that." Helm leaned back as much to stretch as to size up the two prospective operatives before him. Both had worked for the organization before and had done exceptionally well as a team, but nevertheless what Helm was about to propose might even be beyond their league. "How do you like your desk jobs?"

            "Could be better," Victor allowed. He was somewhat thin, with sandy brown hair, hazel eyes and a demeanor that bespoke of a man who was comfortable around everyone and made friends easily. A grand disguise, Helm knew. "You have any better ideas?"

            Carlos kept quiet, Helm noticed, letting Victor do all the talking while he merely observed. Carlos Sanchez was a calculating bastard. He fashioned himself a new-age Jackal, after the international terrorist of the Cold War era. As an assassin he'd used a variety of different weapons, but Helm doubted he'd be ready for this new one. "How'd you guys like to visit Tokyo?"

            "Sounds great. Chinese food is the best." Victor's curled lip stopped Helm from making the location correction.

            "What's in Tokyo?" Carlos asked, though he thought he already knew.

            "Liabilities," Helm replied simply, crossing his hands and resting them on the table next to his water glass. "Liabilities that need to be cut."

            Carlos let out a long breath. "I was afraid you'd say that."

            "Damn," Victor observed, smiling. "I'm surprised you have the balls for this."

            "Did you expect us to take their hassling sitting down?" Helm asked calmly, looking from assassin to assassin. "Answer me this quickly, and answer me this really god damn honestly: how do you feel about the Maverick Hunters?"

            Carlos pursed his lips and looked Helm in the eye. "How do I feel about them? Well…as a human, Helm, I must say I carry a certain practical respect for Mega Man X. Without him, well, things wouldn't be looking very up for the flesh and blood kind."

            "Understandable," Helm said with a dismissive nod. "But you needn't worry yourself with things _that _grandiose. We have no intentions of killing X, or even Zero for that matter. But there are others in that organization who's disappearance will send the right kind of message without destabilizing the Hunter core." That was a delicate balance they kept, Helm thought. It was also somewhat ironic. They wanted to reduce Hunter involvement in their affairs, but at the same time they needed the Hunter organization to exist to keep rival networks out of business.

            "Business is business, my friend." Victor shrugged and took another sip of water. "The way I see it, yeah, the Hunters protect our race, but if they caught either of us they'd gladly throw us in the brig. So, as long as we're not touching the Scourges of Sigma themselves, I don't have a problem with what I imagine you're suggesting."

            "My questions aren't about morals," Carlos said. "My questions are about practicality. What exactly do you want done, and how do you propose we do it?"

            Helm smiled. These humans were as cutthroat and thankless as he'd hoped. The agent opened his suitcase enough to retrieve a floppy disk. "In a nutshell, I want you to take out a target in Tokyo. Probably you will have to get into or near the Hunter Headquarters."

            "That's easier said than done, Helm." Victor frowned. "What's so special about this target that we can't just use a rifle shot from leagues away?"

            Sniping was, Helm knew, the favored modus operandi for these two, but unfortunately this time they would have to adapt to newer circumstances. This time was special. "You're not going to be using conventional weapons. You'll be using something totally unique."

            "And what would that be?" Victor pried.

            Helm shook his head. "I'm not going to discuss it here. You'll pick it up and learn how to use it in Okinawa, if you accept the job. Full information is on this disk, and it will look dangerous on paper. In practice, however, the chances of damage to either of you is quite remote…if you set things up right, you won't even have to be present for the kill."

            "Bear trap?" Victor asked with a grin at the thought.

            "Something like that," Helm allowed.

            "How much?" It was Carlos this time.

            "Given the uniqueness of this mission we're willing to pay fifty thousand credits to each of you. If you succeed in Tokyo we have other targets on our list. We'll see where things go from there." He raised an eyebrow. "Is this acceptable?"

            Carlos looked at Victor, and Victor looked right back at Carlos. It had been a long time since they'd done anything really exciting, and the occasional silent strikes they pulled off were beginning to bore them. "Yeah," Carlos said for both of them. "We'll do it."

            Helm handed over the floppy disk. "Take a look and destroy it when you're done. Your flight to Okinawa leaves tomorrow afternoon. You'll drive into Tokyo from there."

            "Seeing as we've agreed and all," Victor pressed, "You don't think you can just tell us who the target is?"

            Helm told them. The name didn't ring a bell for either assassin, which to them meant that the target was inconsequential as far as keeping their race alive. To Helm, though, the target was a major thorn in the organization's side, having carried out many a covert strike against the Serpent's bases. The day of reckoning was fast approaching for that one.

            "Stay," Victor offered as the pizza arrived. "Have a bite."

            "The work of a miscreant is never done," Helm shook his head, standing. "Good day, gentlemen."

            "His loss," Carlos opined as the Serpent's lieutenant left.

            "Indeed," Victor agreed, filling his plate. The pizza smelled good as hell. "You think they'll have pizza places in Tokyo?"

            "Pizza's hard to eat with chopsticks, Vic," Carlos said with half a smile. For him this was a landmark jest, and the last he'd probably make for a few days. Business, after all, was business.

**Hunter Headquarters**

            Vulcan woke with a start, sitting bolt upright with his eyes wide open. A cold sweat ran down his body, dampening his white sleeveless nightshirt. His optics took a while to report that the area before him was his private quarters and not a devastated battleground. Tetra's laughter lingered in his ears before fading completely. His body wasn't shaking this time, though the young Reploid took that as small compensation.

            He quickly realized that the nightmare wasn't the only thing odd about this situation. He was sitting on his bed, but his legs stretched off the short end—he'd fallen asleep sitting up against the wall, and next to him was…

            …Krysta? "What the hell?" Vulcan whispered, shaking his head. His friend was still sleeping peacefully, her head resting against his chest. Vulcan blinked again, trying to remember what in the _world _had transpired here. It came to him when he saw the small black book lying on the floor near the mattress. "Oh, yeah," he breathed, leaning his head back against the wall and trying to relax himself. They'd been here last night, just talking to each other. They'd chattered well into the night, and eventually Krysta had gotten him to show her the journal that Dr. Trask recommended he keep. He suspected that she'd read it before, but nevertheless he continued to write entries as though he were the only one who could review the book. That was how it was supposed to be done, after all.

            He figured they'd fallen asleep at the same time, or else one of them would have left. It was a shame that he was all shaken up, Vulcan thought, or he might…what? He might enjoy this?

            His arm was around her waist, he realized. Had he done that subconsciously, or beforehand? He didn't remember. He suddenly felt extremely awkward, but reminded himself that she was still totally out of it, signified by her steady breathing. There was something nice about this kind of closeness, he admitted. What made it so weird is that he didn't exactly know what he and Krysta were to each other. They were friends, very close friends, but how much did that allow for? He'd meant to ask her, but that was about as comfortable as asking a priest what he thought of cow rapists—he could never do it. Nevertheless, as pleasant as it was to have her curled up next to him now, the uncertainty that flew through Vulcan's mind when they were both awake was making it harder for them to communicate. What if he went too far, he always asked himself. What if he drove her away from him completely by accidentally crossing some unseen line?

            His eyes fell again to the journal lying on the floor. Well, if she did indeed read it behind his back, Krysta could learn of Vulcan's thoughts there. He gently set his friend's head against the wall and slid off the bed. Krysta didn't notice, and continued right on sleeping. He paused to look her over, not sure exactly why, but doing it all the same. The realization that she was pretty was startling to Vulcan both because of its factuality and because he'd never noticed it before. He'd just never thought to consider her in that way. But if he enjoyed her company and thought she was good-looking, did that mean he was attracted to her?  
            "I don't know!" he whispered sharply, rapping a finger against his temple and cursing at his mind. "Shut up, you bastard!" He reached down and picked up the journal, flipping it open to the next blank page and sitting quietly at his desk, grabbing a pen. "All right, little fella," he said absently as he began writing. He called his journal "Tim". This was for no real reason other than that it made him feel a little less like an idiot calling it Tim rather than 'Journal'. "You win again. I still feel like an idiot, but I'm gonna write in you anyway."

_June 24th_

_The nightmares are back, Tim. I knew I'd jinxed myself in the last entry. This time it was me against Tetra, the Maverick tanker. It's his tank that brings back the worst memories, but we actually did fight one-on-one for a little bit after the tank was taken out. He nearly killed me then, and he keeps getting second chances in my dreams._

_I don't understand it. There was something different about this dream. Tetra never pulled the trigger in real life—Hawkins stopped him. I've known this in every dream, and so I'm never worried when the moment comes. But tonight, I just knew Tetra was going to win. I was actually scared. If that dream had gone on any longer, I'd have been shot. Hawkins would not have come to the rescue this time…why? Where was he? It makes no sense. Does this mean something? Is this dread a premonition? Vulcan, psychic Reploid extraordinaire? I should have a sitcom._

_Well, freaky dreams aside, I woke up with Krysta snoozing next to me. We were nestled together like some cutsie couple. Talk about awkward. I don't remember what happened last night, and if I were human I'd be worried about that. But still, the situation gets to me._

_What do you think, Tim? I've got a beautiful woman near me almost constantly, and I don't know what the hell to do about it. I don't know what she is to me anymore. She was always a friend, but we've bonded a lot over the past year (mostly because I'm a useless feck who needs to pour out his hopes and fears to a non-sentient mass of paper and leather binding. No offense, though.) A lot of what used to feel natural now seems weird. What if I do something I don't mean to do, or something is interpreted the wrong way? I love her as a friend, and if I do something stupid and drive her away, what then? You're lucky, Tim. You don't have emotions. Sometimes I wish I could be like you…just sit there all day, showing my neat blue lines off to whoever opened me, and then endure a pen digging into me for hours at a time…ok, maybe you don't have the life, Tim. Point is, you'll never have to worry about confusing a friend with a lover. I think she considers me a simple friend, which is fine and comfortable, but…I don't know. I'm probably making something out of nothing. It's just weird waking up with a 'simple friend' curled up in your arms._

_…Though if that's what constitutes a simple friendship nowadays, more power to them._

            He added the last line as an afterthought, blinking at it after it was written. He supposed it was true…holding her like that had given him a feeling of security, as though he were in control of things. He'd depended on others since the terrorist attacks, and for that moment, whether it was true or not, it was like she depended on him for her own comfort. It made him feel…well, like he was worth something.

            He closed the book just as Krysta herself groaned and blinked the sleep from her eyes. She focused on Vulcan as his journal snapped shut, blinking for a different reason. "What the…" It took her another second or so to realize that it wasn't her room, and she blushed immediately. "Oh God."

            "I was surprised too," Vulcan said, resting the journal on the desk and scratching the back of his neck. "We were talking…right? I honestly don't remember."

            "Yeah, talking…" She rested her head back against the wall, laughing a bit. "Wow…I'm sorry…"

            "Eh, don't worry. I didn't take any pictures. Just woke up myself, actually."

            She allowed herself a small smile of relief that she hadn't offended him, and then her eyes fell on the journal. For a second she processed all the thoughts Vulcan just had, and of course wondered what her friend thought. That information was definitely in the journal, which Vulcan casually pushed aside. "I can't believe…" She stopped, blushing again.

            "What?" Vulcan asked, feeling awkward himself.

            "It's…nothing." She stood, looking out the window at the rising sun and frowning. "I better get back to my own quarters before someone catches me in here…Rykov would _never _let us—"

            "—Hear the end of this," Vulcan finished, laughing a little easier as he stepped to his door. Hunters all had their own individual rooms now, but the rooms were consequentially smaller than they had been, allowing Vulcan just enough space for a bed, two dressers, a desk and a small closet. He cracked the door and peeked outside at the empty hallway. "No one's coming."

            "Phew…" She walked to the door, somewhat slowly, with a fleeting glance back at the journal. Vulcan wasn't supposed to catch the look, but he did. Krysta stopped at the door, fighting another blush and smiling uneasily. "This is a new one."

            "Definitely. How bad?"

            "Eh." She brushed a lock of ice blue hair from her face. She tried to say more but laughed at herself again, averting her eyes.

            "Whaaaat?" he asked, more nervous than annoyed. "Out with it, you knave!"

            She shrugged and grinned at him. "You make a good pillow?"

            "Oh, what's _that _supposed to mean?" he asked quickly, with false anger. "You calling me fat?"

            "Sure, Vulc, you're a regular doughboy," she said with a light laugh, jabbing a finger into his flat midsection. "I meant when I woke up, I was thinking how well I'd slept." Her cheeks colored again. "Weird, huh?"

            "Totally." Maybe he wasn't the only one in mental turmoil, he thought. God, did misery ever love company.

            "Well I'd better scram before we start making out or something," she said, grinning evilly.

            "You are cruel to jest, my lady," he replied, very casually, holding the door for her. She smiled back at him, squeezing his shoulder as she made her escape, scurrying down the halls to her own quarters.

            He was sorry to see her go.

            "Settle down!" he hissed at his emotions, to no avail. His shoulder tingled where her hand had been, and he suddenly wished it were there again. "Friends," he reminded himself, walking towards his window—he was lucky enough to have one of those—and watching the sun come up. "Friends."

            Friends or not, at least now he had something to think about other than Tetra. He turned to his desk and looked at his journal, sitting there like the forbidden fruit. "Well, Tim? Own up. Does she read you? We have ways of making you talk, my friend."

            Tim didn't answer. Tim was a journal. Vulcan, on the other hand, was a Maverick Hunter, and in two hours he had to be ready for a training session. He dressed himself and left his room, heading not to the cafeteria but to the Zen garden outside. He was up earlier than usual this morning, and he had a lot to meditate on.

**Sakimoto Airfield**

            It was a rare moment when the pilot Bale got a chance to rest, and when he did have free time he preferred to spend it lying on the roof of the aircraft hangar, staring up at the sky and usually wishing he was flying through it instead of sitting on a damn rooftop. However he still enjoyed his time off, and that being said he was considerably annoyed when Raven 13 came screaming over the top of the hangar, jolting him out of his haze of daydreams and sending him rolling across the steel roof in fright. He shot to his feet and very eloquently bellowed "YOU HELL-RAISING SON OF A BITCH!" at the retreating fighter jet, waving his arms like a frantic cartoon character for emphasis.

            "Hell yes!" Alec laughed, pumping his fist and leaving Bale in the dust. "I get him _every _time!"

            "Jesus," observed the woman squashed into the small cockpit with him. She was a systems programmer named Ravenna Steele, a young woman with dark hair and slightly tanned skin. She worked for the Hayatom Corporation, a world-renowned producer of mechanical parts and programs. She'd come down to Sakimoto Airfield one day to investigate a weapons malfunction with one of the Raven jets. She and Alec had met professionally enough, but by the end of the day they'd agreed to meet for dinner. One thing led to another, and now five weeks later Alec had smuggled her into his jet in order to do what every man must do at one point or another: show off. The civilian turned to the pilot with an expression containing both amazement and amusement. "Can't you get in trouble for flying that close to him?"

            "Sure, if I misjudge my flight path."

            "What could happen then?"

            "I might kill him." Alec grinned hugely. "Can't you see that in the papers? 'Systems Programmer Seizes Control of Plane, Spills Smoking Guts Of Hunter Pilot'?"

            "How about no?" Ravenna protested with a laugh, smacking him upside the head. The two of them were about as alike as they were different, which interested them both. A civilian egghead with a mind full of mischief, Ravenna was sometimes surprised to find herself with a rambunctious pilot. Alec also had a mind full of mischief, however, and they found that their senses of humor were almost perfectly matched.

            Alec barrel rolled for the nine hundredth time and then touched the small aerial warrior down easily on the runway, driving it towards the hangar. Bale emerged from the garage very shortly, still perturbed and not getting any better when Alec helped Ravenna down, the both of them sniggering audibly. "Is that some kind of turn on for you two?" Bale growled, feeling his annoyance burning off but blowing steam for the simple hell of it.

            "It was her idea," Alec said instantly, dodging another smack to the head.

            "Don't listen to him," Ravenna retorted, trying to keep a straight face. "It was…mechanical failure!"

            "What?" Bale grumped, crossing his arms over his chest. "I suppose you're going to tell me Sigma owned the jet all of a sudden?"

            "As a matter of fact," Alec responded with an evil grin, using his best impersonation of the infamous Maverick's voice.

            "Enough of that, or we'll have you debugged," the Reploid said to the human. "In either case, Signas wants us to have another look at the Skiver's Nighthawk schematics."

            "I'd better get going too," Ravenna announced with a sigh. "Boss Tan gets annoyed when the techies are late."

            "Have a blast," Alec said, deadpan.

            "Thanks," she said, kissing him. "The jet was fun."

            "Roller coaster of the sky," he agreed as she headed off.

            Bale just shook his head with a quirky frown. "You know you could be thrown in the brig for taking a civilian passenger into that death trap of a jet?"

            "Well if I am I'll know who blabbed, won't I?" Alec replied with a grin. "Let's have a look at these schematics, shall we? I'm thinking this is an 'early lunch day'. What say you?"

            "Alec, with you, it's always an early lunch day."

            "I know. And we get paid for all of it. _All of it_!"

            "It should be a crime."

            "It probably is." Alec blinked after he said it. Then he and Bale checked around themselves in unison and quickly got to work on the schematics.

            Hawkins sucked in the crisp morning air, savoring it as he always did. The world may be a polluted stinking rock, he often thought, but early in the morning the forest and cliffside trails surrounding Maverick Hunter Headquarters were the Garden of Eden. His pace was a little more than a jog, but not so much that he felt even vaguely out of breath. His metal limbs could keep him going for a very long time. The only thing a Reploid runner had to worry about was keeping their breathing synchronized, and they were set.

            Hawkins capitalized on this fact almost every morning, rising long before the sane people in the HQ and beginning his therapeutic run. He called it therapeutic because it really was. He covered a little over three miles in his usual route, and at his easy pace he was usually finished in a half hour. During those thirty minutes he was more at peace than at any other time of the day. Running gave him a much-needed release from the stress of his job, and doing it before that job started allowed him to perform his duties with a clear head. If he had something he needed to think about, he ran. Usually by the time he'd finished, his thoughts had become lucid. It was mostly due to this regular morning workout that Lieutenant Commander Hawkins was rarely if ever in a state of depression.

            He cruised through the so-called Wormswood Forest, christened by Alec after the pilot had found "a nightcrawler the size of a bondage whip" under a now famous log. The worm in question had yet to be found, but the name had stuck. The trees smelled of pine, and Hawkins inhaled the pleasant scent as he did every morning. The mound of paperwork he had yet to fill out became nonexistent. Apprehensions about questionable new recruits ceased to be important. A pinecone fell and hit him on the head.

            "Smart ass," the Hunter muttered behind him, continuing along the dirt path. He soon came upon the two trees that marked the middle of the forest path, standing directly across from each other on either side of the dirt road. They seemed to Hawkins a gateway of sorts, and he had a habit of rushing through them. This he did, kicking his speed up to a sprint and hurtling through the wooden columns. He slowed his pace, glancing behind him to watch the immobile sentries disappearing in the distance. Those trees were such an interesting bit of nature, he thought, just as he did every morning. He subsequently followed that thought with "I need a life", as he also did every morning.

            Despite this Hawkins couldn't exactly be accused of sloth. He worked hard training his men, and was a member of a strike force that took out nearby targets linked with Gold Serpent. The Army base in southern Japan supplied most of the manpower for this unit, but the Hunters contributed the key information and the key agents. Similar units functioned around the globe, and were a crucial part of Signas's plan for bringing Kou Cao's operations to a standstill.

            When not slaving away as a Maverick Hunter, Hawkins spent most of his free time with the members of his unit. Given his friendly and open nature, he'd quickly earned the trust and respect of his comrades and served as a very down to earth authority figure slash blood brother to them. The lieutenant commander couldn't think of anyone in Unit 5 that wouldn't fight to the death for their allies, which was not at all the case in your average unit. The Maverick Hunters were not a military organization—they were a special counter-terrorism team that employed and trained civilian Reploids who were free to resign at any time. Thus the Hunters themselves were mercenaries, if you wanted to be technical about it, and in most cases it is hard for mercenaries to come up with lasting notions of loyalty. They may fight to defend their closer friends, sure, but the team mentality that comes with regular military units is the exception rather than the norm.

            Hawkins finished his run at the front of Hunter Headquarters, spying a familiar figure resting in the elaborate fauna of the Zen garden. "Lo, Vulcan!" Hawkins called out, wiping the sweat from his brow and entering the immediately peaceful environment. "Are you one with the universe yet?"

            "Almost," Vulcan replied calmly, turning to acknowledge his friend. "Good run?"

            "Always." Hawkins peeled a stray bang of black hair off his forehead. "You're up early."

            "Tell me about it…" Vulcan agreed, yawning like a tiger. "Couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."

            "I know the feeling. Couple of nights ago that asshole Stonewall compared the Hunters to rent-a-cops. I was tearing his throat till morning."

            "How very Maverick you seem today, Hawkins." But Vulcan understood. The human general called Stonewall was not a favorite around the HQ. "What's on the schedule for today?"

            "Flanking drills." Hawkins rested a leg on a nearby stone slab. "Archer wants to boot up the Bangor 2 model."

            "Jesus, not again." Bangor 2 was an advanced version of the base in Maine where the New York Hunters under Commander Zion apprehended several high-ranking Gold Serpent personnel. This simulation was designed to incorporate the lessons Kou Cao should have learned from this strike, so the Hunters would be ready for his responses.

            "Practice makes perfect," Hawkins reminded his underling. "You've seen what happens when things go completely to hell."

            That was worth a shiver. "Yes, I have."

            Hawkins studied the young Hunter for a few seconds. "You know, Vulc, you've gotta be the most depressing guy on the base."

            He laughed. "I'm not _that _bad, you ass."

            "No, seriously. You've always got something heavy on your mind. Lighten up, dude. Hasn't Rykov taught you to let it all hang out yet?"

            "Rykov has suggested many things that I wouldn't be caught dead doing."

            "Bad example. What about Krysta?"

            His reaction, Hawkins thought, was curious. "She's…tried, but I'm stubborn."

            "Ah." The burly Hunter frowned in careful analysis. "Know what you need? You need to start running. It'll clear your head faster than anything that quack Trask can prescribe."

            "Running is the sport of madmen."

            "Which is precisely why you should start. Hear me and hear me well, my friend: it _is _possible to be too sane for your own good. Meet me here tomorrow at six. You've got nothing to lose by trying."

            "I'm wasted on cross country."

            "You don't have to move fast. Lord knows I don't. You just have to move. Do your thinking then and get it out of the way." He started away from the garden, heading for the main doors. "It'll do you good!"

            "Sure," Vulcan said lamely, watching his superior vanish. Damn it. How did he always manage to get himself into these things?

            The Garibaldi Wastewater Treatment Plant had served Doppler Town well in its day, treating the utopia's sewage with as much professionalism as you ever did see in a de-shittifier building. Unfortunately, like most of Doppler Town, it had to be shut down when its boss, Toxic Seahorse, went completely and utterly batshit. Mega Man X had put a stop to the goofy Maverick with the aid of icy shards courtesy of one Blizzard Buffalo, and Garibaldi went out of business once and for all.

            Damia didn't have the Frost Shield at her disposal, nor did she have Mega Man X for that matter, but to her it would be cheating if she had either. What she did have was the simulation records of the Garibaldi Mission, and now it was time once again for her unit to prove that they still knew their stuff.

            The leader of Unit 8 watched the progress from a viewscreen in a room adjacent to the simulation chamber. Her two teams were in position, visible as red and blue blips on the three-dimensional map emitted from the screen. During Doppler's rebellion, Toxic Seahorse had fortified the major section of the base with an anti-teleportation barrier. The only way in was through an underwater passage lined with all kinds of undersea defenses and guarded by a giant fan that produced a strong backwards current. X had approached it by reactivating a ride armor panel, but Damia's people wouldn't have that luxury. One team consisting of Deluge, Dantz and Everett would enter the same way Mega Man X did and, using Deluge's unique talents, would strike hard and draw the main defenses to them. As they did so Nexus, Castle and Acrystos would approach in a submersible and climb up one of the chasms leading into the "fan area". There, using an extremely coordinated series of strikes, they would disable the fan and thus the current, allowing passage to Seahorse's lair.

            That, at least, was the plan. Generally Damia herself participated in these training missions, since she was the one who really needed the practice, but she had to keep up her skills as a strategist as well as her skills as a soldier, and this time it was control duty for her. She missed the thrill of the exercise, but had to admit there was something nice about not having to bear the pressure that came with the fear of failure. Watching was always easier than doing.

            …Who was she kidding? She never took the easy way out. This sucked.

            A small mechanical monkey climbed up onto the desk next to Damia, standing upright and saluting her. She smiled. "Boring, isn't it Roy?" Roy gave her an affirmative squeak and sprang onto her arm, clambering up to its creator's shoulder. The strategist chuckled and stroked her pet's silver fur. "What's Siegfried up to now?" Roy's following pattern of noises indicated that his gold furred counterpart was nowhere to be found. "Oh well…monkeys. What are you gonna do?"

            Roy clicked his tongue and sat down on Damia's shoulder. While most Reploids had innate attacks at their disposal, Damia had been gifted only with basic motor skills and an above-average CPU. She'd been able to combine the two to produce her fighting style, and eventually had a program installed in her that allowed her to control a number of drones for spying purposes. Until recently Damia had used only spider drones due to their practicality, but her medical condition had left her with more free time than she cared to admit. And so, enter Siegfried and Roy, the robot helper monkeys. Delates couldn't get over the pair, and neither could most of Damia's unit. After building the two Damia realized that they were much more than extra pairs of eyes—both monkeys were very good with knives and, in some cases, smaller lightsabers. "Holy shit," she'd said to Delates after this realization. "Imagine the look on some Maverick's face when, out of the blue, two little monkeys with butcher knives ambush his ass in a dark alley."

            "Oh,_ chere command-air,_" Castle said on the radio, using the cheesiest French accent he could muster, "_vee ah readeh_."

            "_Tu es une vache flammande, _Castle." Which was, in fact, the go code—Flemish Cow. "Stand by." Damia switched channels to Deluge's team. "You ready over there?"

            "And waiting."

            Damia tracked enemy signals on the map. "All's clear for you, Deluge. Dantz, Brant, wait for the signal."

            "Roger," said all three team members.

            "All right," said Damia absently, as Roy climbed onto her head and clapped his hands eagerly. "Let's see if we can't show X how it's done."

            Deluge's "team" was really a three-part strike force, since none of the three Hunters was in the same place. Brant Everett had been placed on the dam across the water from the treatment plant, where he waited quietly with his sniper rifle. The sturdy Dantz had infiltrated through the sewers, as X had, and now bided his time while studying the security drones. Deluge himself was already underwater. He touched down on the sandy bottom—a depth of about thirty feet—and began charging his weapons. Like his name implied, Deluge was a Reploid of the sea, his aquamarine and jade coloration hiding him well in the deep. His special attack, the Tsunami, was self-explanatory. Above ground Deluge fired slim beams of blue lightning, but under the sea his cannon began generating waves of energy that fluctuated violently back and forth, disturbing the waters and creating terrible waves above him. As he charged his cannon, powerful energy gathered at one particular point and waited to be unleashed, at which point a nasty tidal wave would come crashing down at a target.

            Official records of the Garibaldi Battle didn't list many actual Mavericks among the drones patrolling the facility, but one the Hunters did know about was named Dimitrius. This grungy humanoid had pursued X all the way to the ride armor platform, where the Frog mecha had finally cut him down with cluster missiles. The designers of the simulation had opted to give Dimitrius the honor of being the master of security in Toxic Seahorse's base, and the simulated Reploid patrolled the roof of the facility with the majority of his stronger drone henchmen. The sight of the restless waves did disturb the program, especially since the battle was occurring on a calm day. He thought he might put his units on alert, but stopped to look a little longer.

            Then the Tsunami came, and it was too late to do anything for a while.

            Deluge let his energies fly free, and the gathered power burst free from its confines. The manmade lake seemed to throw itself at the treatment plant, and the momentum carried the wave up towards the roof—the building did not rise that high out of the water, since most of its operations occurred underwater anyway. Dimitrius shouted out frantic commands but anything sentient was staring dumbly at the approaching wall of water.

            The next thing Dimitrius knew he was underwater and being slammed hard against the wall behind him—the "roof" was a series of outdoor walkways surrounding a unit that went up even higher—and by the time he was able to discern which way was up, things were badly out of hand. Many of their mounted defenses had been badly jarred or shorted out by the wave, and the sentries were all disoriented. Some of the walking cannons had been shattered upon contact with the wall, Dimitrius noted as well. He flipped a switch on a device he'd been programmed to carry, and all alarms in the Garibaldi Wastewater Treatment Plant went off at once. "All units on alert! We are under attack!" He stopped before giving further orders, staring in fear at something on the horizon. "What is _that_?"

            Deluge had struck the first blow, and now in order to divert base security fully the Hunters had to present them with targets to shoot at. The Hunters had their own mechaniloid drones, and Brant Everett activated them from his position on the dam. Three small black hovercopters rose from a position behind the dam and began closing in on the facility, opening fire with machine guns on the roof defenses.

            "Shit," Dimitrius growled. "All units to the roof! The attack is from the air! The attack is—" A humanoid drone next to him fell in disrepair as a giant hole was blown through its head. Dimitrius looked out shakily towards the scene in front of him. Snipers!

            Everett smiled, calmly switching targets in his crosshairs. A crab mecha fell next with an adaman bullet clear through its side, blowing off all its legs. He found it ironic sometimes that the pressure could be so intense for him, even though he was in the least danger during these kinds of missions. He supposed it was because it was up to him to cover his comrades' asses and keep them alive. The leader of another humanoid squad lost his head. Indeed, thought Everett, lowering his rifle and looking at the programmer for the copters, there was nothing funny about this.

            One of the copters strafed the west walkway, dropping many of the sentries. Dimitrius himself was slammed again into the wall, this time with blood leaking down his torso. He choked on his own vital fluids and slid to the floor. Security forces continued to arrive nonetheless. On the water, seafaring war vessels sped out onto the lake, firing up at the copters only to be sunk themselves. One missile from a small speedboat crashed into the tail rotor of one of the copters, bringing it down hard against the main wall of the treatment plant. A thundering shudder went through the building, allowing for a brief lull in the action.

            Dantz felt it as he made his way in through the basement. The first two enemies he encountered were massive ones, big green humanoids who fired single shots of a thin blue laser from their cannons. The guerilla found these foes disappointingly easy to defeat. The red titan leapt onto a raised platform in front of the two mechaniloids and simply began firing his cannon. Thick, large orbs of plasma slammed into the green thing's body, damaging it greatly. Still it attacked, sending its skinny laser towards Dantz's head. He simply ducked, firing his bazooka-like cannon again and sending the machine to the grinder. The next one challenged him with a similar shot that Dantz nimbly jumped over, charging his cannon as he did so. The subsequent shot was a thick, long laser that plowed clear through the mechaniloid, and that was the end of that. Dantz left the battlefield by casually leaping down a steep drop. He landed heavily on the steel floor of what looked to be the sewage part of the sewage treatment plant. On either side of the platform, a river of murky green water flowed ominously by while acid dripped from the piping above, which had long since fallen into disrepair. The Hunter made his way to the end of the platform and began climbing up the wall, using grappling mechanisms in his hands and boots. This proved to be a disgusting task, since a cascade of filthy water fell from some point above him and he was right in the middle of it. "Brant, I'm approaching," he said into his communicator as he—thankfully—neared the top.

            "Roger," said Everett, calmly shooting through the engine of the speedboat that had dropped the copter. The vessel disappeared in a ball of flames and the sniper ordered the other two to back off for a while, retreating to the east and drawing enemy fire that way. "All clear, D. I've got you covered."

            Dantz accepted that, clambering up onto the final platform and shaking himself dry like a dog. He really hated this simulation. The dash thrusters in his boots came to life and carried his large frame towards the action on the roof. All remaining forces had gathered on the west balcony where they could see all the action, and they quickly raised the alarm when they saw Dantz infringe on their turf. Dantz simply let loose another charged laser, which plowed clear through the line of foes. The rest of the drones were unprepared and overwhelmed, and were easily dispatched by regular blasts from Dantz's mighty cannon. "Roof cleared."

            "Roger that. Think you can help us with the water boys?"

            Dantz smiled. He turned to face the lake below him and selected the best line of fire. His shoulder epaulets opened up to reveal charging laser cannons. Glowing orbs of white-hot plasma gathered and launched out in wide, long beams of energy. Dantz's spread laser slammed into five different Maverick vessels, sinking them all. The other ones, their programs registering that the roof was no longer friendly, redirected their fire towards the red Hunter. Dantz took cover behind support pillars, popping out to fire shots every once in a while. Everett did the same from the other side until finally the waters became choppy again. A second Tsunami, far smaller than the first but still potent, rolled into the remaining sea drones and brought the battle to a close. Deluge surfaced and patched in to Everett. "Brant, that's all I've got."

            "That's all we'll need. Stand by for pickup. There'll be enemy reinforcements soon, but that's their problem."

            Deluge then waited as Everett directed a hovercopter to his position. Deluge latched onto one of the landing rungs and held on tightly, hoping mightily that no sneak attacks felled the copter while he was hitching a ride. Dantz watched the scene and covered for his comrade, watching the water for any signs of foul play…

            …Foul play which did come, but not from the seas. Dantz cried out as a shot landed in his back. His heavy armor absorbed most of the damage but he was worried anyway, and he turned to observe the angry, bleeding Dimitrius crawling towards him, a pistol leveled toward Dantz's face. "Die," the Maverick program rasped, his finger tightening on the trigger. A head exploded…but it was not Dantz's.

            "Be more careful," Everett admonished easily, lowering his rifle and getting back to the task of guiding Deluge to his destination.

            Dantz breathed a sigh of relief as Deluge joined him on the balcony. He kicked Dimitrius's corpse as he passed by. "Ready to go _back _in the water?"

            Deluge sighed and nodded. "Can't be avoided, I guess. Damia, we're on our way."

            "Pretty good," their commander acknowledged. Roy latched onto her left arm, chittering happily as she scratched his head. "Close call with Dimitrius, but it worked out. Castle," she said after changing channels. "Things are as clear as they're going to get."

            Before the message had been sent, Castle, Acrystos and Nexus were on their way to the underwater processing area by way of a small submersible that they parked at the bottom of a chasm. "Roger that!" Castle replied to Damia, smiling to the others. "You ladies ready?"

            "And waiting," Acrystos nodded affirmative.

            Nexus simply smiled and brushed her dark hair out of her eyes, eyes that glowed briefly. She stepped forward and vanished through a portal that came to be and ceased to exist in the manner of one second. "Show off," Castle opined, stepping onto a platform with his paramour and pressing a red button. Both were jettisoned high up into the chasm, where they latched onto the sidewalls and climbed towards the top. They were quite close to the giant fan and knew it, so close in fact that they couldn't push themselves up any farther. Dantz and Deluge would soon make it down here, but none of them would pass into the core of the facility without getting rid of the rotor that produced the terrible current above them.

            Fortunately, they'd come up with a pretty good plan for dealing with that. Acrystos sent a burst transmission to Damia, who replied that there were no enemies in their immediate vicinity. The message was sent directly to Acrystos's CPU in words rather than sound, which would not carry underwater. Acrystos next conveyed her readiness to Nexus with a thumbs-up. The indigo Huntress nodded and concentrated on the maps of the area she'd seen in the briefing. The destination portal Acrystos would step out of had to be just right…if it was too far, the green one would be shredded by the rotor. Fortunately Nexus knew her stuff, and once Acrystos finished gathering icy energies to her cannon she nodded her final affirmative and dropped into the portal beneath her. She stepped out of the portal right in front of the fan and was momentarily bewildered at how strong the current was, and how fast she was being pushed away. She remembered her mission in time to unleash her Ice Arrow, a frosty ray of energies that encased the rotor blades and stiffened their performance considerably. She flew back over the chasm and managed to stop herself before sliding into a working area behind her lined with spikes and floating turtle sentries.

            Castle was next. Exactly three seconds after Acrystos went up he stepped into his own portal and reappeared in front of the slowed fan. The current was still strong, but no longer strong enough to stop Castle from performing his Dash Warp attack, which was as simple as it sounded. The dark Hunter short warped right under the fan long enough to slap a remote mine under it. He let the current carry him away, latching onto the same rock Acrystos was holding onto before blowing the mine. The fan disappeared in thick black smoke and the current died. Castle grinned as he and Acrystos stood and as Nexus joined them suddenly from a third portal. Deluge and Dantz arrived shortly afterwards and they proceeded into the cavern the fan had blocked…and the simulation ended.

            "Well that could have been worse," Damia said simply, entering the simulation room with her monkey on her shoulder.

            "What's that about?" Deluge said, removing his headpiece. "I wanted to fight Toxic Seahorse!"

            "I think the boss should fight Toxic Seahorse," Castle said with a grin. "She knows what _we _can do, now let's see what _she _can do."

            "The boss isn't fighting Toxic Seahorse," Damia responded. "The boss is going to do mounds and mounds of paperwork, and she doesn't care what you cretins do in the meantime."

            "Anything new on that Revenant guy?" Acrystos asked, wiping sweat off her face. She couldn't get wet from simulated water, but the body reacted how the body reacted.

            "No, but if someone's taking out Hunter commanders, _you_ guys don't have much to worry about." Damia swatted at Roy, who was busy playing with her hair. "Frankly, I dare someone to attack this place. The security we've got is amazing."

            "Yeah, but so was the security in the last place," Dantz pointed out. "Though we didn't have mines…or mounted cannons…or a shitload of booby traps for a mile around the building—"

            "The security we have," Castle said loudly, "is _amazing_!"

            "So don't worry." Damia started for the door. "Personally I think the guy was abducted, not murdered. Hunter assassinations just don't happen, or at least they haven't happened. Seems like they _ought_ to have happened, but the thought never crossed any Maverick's mind."

            "Maybe it just did," Acrystos suggested. "We'll all watch ourselves just the same."

            Damia nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right…false security is what screwed us over two years ago, after all." They'd be ready this time, though, if something were to happen. They had all kinds of innovative new ways to keep their enemies at bay. Their security was _amazing_! They wouldn't be caught off guard again.

            "Of course we'll be caught off guard again," she grumped quietly, leaving the simulator for her office. "I'll just have to keep my guts inside my body this time, is all…" What a morbid thought to end the afternoon with, she thought with a lopsided smile.

            "Go on. Leave. Remove yourself from my sight." X's eyes narrowed. "God damn it, this is the last time I'm going to warn you."

            The pile of paperwork on his desk just sat there. It didn't even look intimidated.

            "Be that way, you bastard." X withdrew the top page and skimmed through it. The actual amount of "work" he did on the paper was minimal; mainly he just had to read the stuff. Caligula's Intel weenies sorted out the Grade A from the garbage, but this was useless unless someone actually read the Grade A…well, garbage. But X could hardly complain. He was the idiot who'd decided to save the world, after all, and if that meant paperwork…

            "I don't understand why you can't just give me a break," the world's most famous Maverick Hunter continued, jabbing the paperwork with his pen. "You're always there, hounding me. Don't you have a life? I know I'd like to. What do you say? Come on, you Cossack, only this once!"

            "It's getting to you," said a voice in the doorway. "I know it is."

            "What's getting to me?" X didn't even look up to acknowledge Zero, still skimming the sheet in front of him.

            "That gargantualistic heap of formal white dung sitting on your desk, mayhap?"

            "Don't insult the paperwork, Zero, it has feelings too." X slid the sheet off to the side and picked up another one.

            "Definitely getting to you." Zero, dressed down to jeans and a white shirt, descended lazily onto the couch in his best friend's office. "Definitely."

            "Oh, it is not."

            "You were talking to it."

            "I was not."

            "Then who were you talking to just now?"

            "You, of course."

            "You called me a Cossack?"

            "No, I called the paperwork a Cossack."

            "So you _were _talking to it."

            "Was I?"

            "Weren't you?"

            "I don't know. I'd have to check."

            "Check with who?"

            "The paperwork."

            "I see. Well, check."

            "Was I talking to you?"

            "Me?"

            "No, the paperwork."

            "Oh."

            …

            "I guess the paperwork isn't going to be cooperative, is it X?"

            "Throw yourself off Mount Everest and die, Zero."

            Zero cackled and got to his feet. "Come on. Let's go do something completely stupid and irresponsible."

            "I've got a lot of paperwork to do…"

            "I know, and the paperwork knows too, because you told it so."

            "Maybe Mount Everest isn't a high enough fall. Maybe I should just throw you out of a space ship."

            "I'd enjoy that too much. It'd be all like _whoooaaaa I'm an astronaut, baby_!" Zero grinned and gestured to the mess hall. "Come on. They're serving chicken fried rice, and you _know _Tetsuo makes mean chicken fried rice."

            "I'm not hungry."

            "Yes you are." Zero leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to the paperwork. "Isn't he?"

            "Screw space," X said, setting down his pen in resignation and standing up. "I'll just bribe God to throw your ass down from Heaven."

            "But then I could tell everyone down here what God looks like and how long his beard truly is, and you'd get owned for allowing these secrets to be released."

            "Well, I guess I can't argue with your stone solid logic. Once again, Philosopher Zero amazes and astounds me!"

            "Atta boy!" Zero clapped him on the back as they walked. "At least you're smiling while you're being sarcastic. Yesterday you were all like _muhhh Zero interrupted my wooork _with this bigass sourpuss face."

            "Once in a while, Zero," X shook his head, fighting the urge to laugh, "I really miss the skulking, pouty Wookie who lumbered around here before those Terrornova assholes went screwing around."

            "Oh, I know." Zero grinned evilly. "Forgive me for capitalizing on it. But all garbage aside, X, you could use some happy pills yourself."

            "What do you mean?"

            They passed into the mess hall where most of the Hunters were eating their lunch. Reploids didn't really need food, but it tasted good and could be converted to a mild energy boost by their internal systems. The two champions stood at the back of the line, grinning innocently at the rookies in front of them who kept doing double takes to figure out whether or not these two were who they thought they were.

            "I do all the paperwork you do," Zero explained. "But I'm nowhere near as grumpy as you are."

            "You drink more coffee than I do."

            "True, but there's more to it than coffee."

            "What could be more important than coffee?"

            "Fun things to do after the caffeine binge, that's what." Zero rolled his neck and cracked his back, waiting ever so impatiently for the line to move. "You drink coffee, tea or whatever and go fill out forms. I drink the stuff and go train or party."

            "I'm beat," X protested. "My days are long and boring. Besides, my lieutenants keep the unit in shape."

            "Pah, lieutenants my ponytail. Tetsuo! Food god!"

            "And how are you, Commander?" the chief chef replied, passing over two bowls of chicken fried rice. "And X, looking happy as ever."

            "He talks to his paperwork," Zero said with a straight face.

            "He falls to his death from high distances," X countered, tipping an imaginary hat to Tetsuo. "Keep 'em coming, food god."

            "That I will."

            "See?" Zero asked as they headed to a table. "Tetsuo works all day and he keeps a smile on his face."

            "He doesn't have to do paperwork, though."

            "X, when's the last time you practiced with your unit?" Zero finally got the point.

            "Too long," the Azure Hunter admitted with a sigh, tasting the food. "It _is_ good."

            "It's gold." Zero stuffed down a few forkfuls. "Give it a go next time. Get the juices flowing. Just work with Jasper and the others and have fun."

            "I don't like fighting."

            "Yeah, and I don't like powdered sugar doughnuts." It was meant to be sarcastic—X knew that Zero _loved _powdered sugar doughnuts. "Come on, X. It's exercise, not fighting. You think I ever liked actually killing people? It was just the thrill of the hunt! You could use a thrill or two."

            X couldn't argue with that, and it irked him. Zero was fast approaching a subject that had been eating at the back of X's mind for a while now, and the Azure Hunter didn't like that one bit.

            It was fine being the responsible one. X had filled that position all his life. He'd done his work well and quickly. He'd always risen to the occasion despite his doubts, never challenging authority because he'd never believed authority to be wrong. Whereas Zero had often grown cross at his few superiors because he simply didn't like them, X never even took personality into consideration, simply acknowledging that they were superiors and their orders weren't anything he had a problem doing. Oh, sure, if Signas told him to sacrifice half his unit for a stupid mission he'd tell the big guy to shove it, but Signas didn't give out missions like that, nor had Doctor Cain. X's mindset was far more militarily inclined than Zero's in that he respected authority far more.

            But where did that leave him? Here he was sixteen years old—a milestone for a Reploid—and there was a profound feeling of mediocrity pouring off of everything he did. Mostly, he felt disappointed. Something hadn't happened that he had wanted to happen very badly. Unfortunately he had no idea what that something was. He often supposed it traced back to his original aversion to the wars against Sigma. X was still a pacifist at his core, but he had embraced enough practicality to realize that sometimes guns were the only way to stop a greater evil. Nevertheless he had never let go of the idea that someday all the fighting would be over and he would be able to enjoy life in full again, just as he had when he was a young, chipper, curious lad studying to be Doctor Cain's research aide.

            It hadn't quite happened that way. Sigma had been defeated time and time again, most recently at Seraph Castle in the Catskills. There X had been witness to a very strange event. He'd arrived too late to help Zero fight Sigma, but his friend had taken care of the bald one on his own. By the time X arrived Sigma lay dead and Zero was broken and bleeding into the snow, but still alive. Then from Sigma's corpse came a writhing mass of dark energies that enveloped Zero and literally crawled inside of him. X had freaked right out, conjecturing rightly that it was the so-called "Maverick Virus" in action. He'd been unable to help Zero, but his friend somehow helped himself and the energies fled his body quite angrily. Zero had identified the darkness as Gemeines Gehirn, but his only elaboration was that "he won't be bothering us anymore."

             But what did that mean, really? Sigma—or at least the power that lived within his mind—had never really come back on his own. If there had been no X-Hunters, Sigma would still be dead. If there had been no Dr. Doppler, Sigma would still be dead. Somewhere out there, X knew, there was some asshole drooling at the idea of reviving the Maverick King and returning the Mavericks to a place of power, and the Hunters would have to pick up their guns again. Thankfully X highly doubted that the most capable candidate for such a deed would go ahead and do it. Kou Cao had already used Sigma once, and Sigma hated being used. The Gold Serpent also probably wouldn't appreciate the threat to his position of power. Without Sigma, the crime lord was the only real leader the miscreants of the world had. Were Sigma to return, Kou's legions would be divided.

            So that put X…here, sixteen years old, eating chicken fried rice in a cafeteria with a mound of paperwork sitting on his desk. Quite simply, where had his life gone?

            "Trust me," Zero said, wolfing down the rest of his food. "If you sit on your ass too long, it's gonna fall asleep."

            X looked his friend dead in the eye and blinked. "_Only _you could have made that sound as sage as you did."

            Zero grinned. "What are friends for?" He pushed his tray aside and stretched out his arms behind him. This was a poor choice, as Zero's new Huntress Siren happened to be walking by at the time, resulting in a scene that would make a sexual harassment lawyer leap for joy. "Jesus Christ!"

            "God, Zero." Siren laughed off the awkwardness of the situation and joined them at the table, snaking her limbs around her blonde commander. "All you had to do was ask," she said in a sultry voice, blinking her baby blues.

            "What was it you were saying about asses?" X asked. It was spoken with such unbelievable casualness that all three of them started laughing.

            "X here wanted some advice," Zero countered, winking at Siren. "If you get my drift."

            "Oh, you dogs." Siren chuckled and disengaged herself. "Ooh, chicken fried rice!" She bounded up to her feet. "You know," she spoke down to Zero, "a gentleman would go get my lunch for me after a stunt like that."

            "A gentleman wouldn't have pulled a stunt like that."

            "Damn," Siren observed. She laughed airily and bapped her commander on the head as she left. "I'll get you yet. I'll replace your alarm clock with my Gigaphone." Even X winced at that. Siren's special weapons could crack bulletproof glass.

            "Phhheeew," Zero exhaled, dropping his façade. "Thank Light she's an extrovert. That could have gone quite badly."

            "Like there's a woman this side of Mars who would complain if you touched them."

            Zero smiled, but it was a half-smile. X may or may not have intended it to happen, but Zero caught something in the statement anyway. Oh, shit. "Don't be so sure…Stonewall would love to throw my ass in jail. He'd take anything. He hates my stinking guts."

            "Calling the Megacity Army the 'pistol-packing bureaucrats' was not the best way to make friends with that man."

            "Screw him. And his friends."

            "Virdelko'd fight him every step of the way, anyway."

            Zero nodded. Generals Klementi Virdelko and Robert "Stonewall" Jackson were two of the most outspoken members of the Megacity System's Defense Table. They argued frequently, and usually over Reploids. X didn't think Jackson's stance was as much anti-Reploid as it was pro-Army, but Zero disagreed. Ever since Seraph Castle Zero had harbored a deep mistrust for racists in the Megacity Army, and Stonewall seemed to him a prime candidate. Virdelko, on the other hand, was a godsend. Until recently he'd been a stanch anti-Reploid activist, but he'd totally reversed his position after the attack on Megacity 5. By some kind twist of fate he'd already been tapped for membership on the Defense Table and Xander Couteau, the Secretary of Defense, had ensured that Virdelko retain his admission ticket despite his new views. Virdelko trusted the Hunters, whereas Jackson saw them as grubby mercenaries. Signas's move had rubbed many the wrong way, and while Signas pretended he did not care everyone knew that the Hunters still had to retain political favor if they hoped to be allowed to operate on a global scale. Virdelko provided them the leeway they needed to stay strong in the West, though Jackson seemed determined to undermine his counterpart at every turn.

            Conversation ground to an uncomfortable halt. Zero was thinking about how to press the girl issue X had inadvertently raised without sounding like an ass, but they both noticed heads rising to the television screens in the corners of the cafeteria. "Something's happening," X observed, and both Hunters stood and started for a monitor. It was a special alert, and there was a building burning. Many were crying on site.

            "Don't tell me," Zero whispered, as realization dawned on him.

            _…incident occurred just very recently, clues are still scarce. Once more for those of you who have just joined us, the Fifth Anglican Orphanage in London, England has been bombed and at least twelve children have been kidnapped. Authorities have stated that the culprits may be tied to the Gold Serpent international crime network._

            An image appeared on the screen featuring three profiles, two human, one Reploid.

            "Holy shit," X realized, pointing to the Reploid. "That's Wildcard Azarias!"

            "Who?" asked Siren, joining them.

            "He's a big, big fish," Zero said, a strange feeling coursing over him. "One of the Serpent's confidants…he's said to know the man himself."

            "They found him," X said. It was like winning the lottery, only the situation could have been so much happier.

            …_Julian Rosen and Christopher Harding have long been sought in kidnapping and extortion schemes ranging throughout the Megacity System. London authorities have stated that Rosen was identified in Heathrow Airport and tracked to a meeting with Wildcard Azarias, the criminal behind the kidnapping of Governor Garret Lombard's family in Iowa._

            "Lombard…" Siren began to understand. Her eyes fell upon the orphanage, and at the caption at the bottom of the screen: at least twelve children taken hostage. All color drained from her face. "_No!_"

            "He's a sick fuck," Zero growled. "A sick, sick son of a bitch…"

            _Azarias and Rosen escaped police by taking over the Fifth Anglican Orphanage. During the standoff a bomb was detonated, demolishing the upper half of the building. At least thirty have been confirmed dead already, eighteen of whom are children. Christopher Harding was apprehended on scene after the bomb detonated. He is currently in police custody. Azarias and Rosen escaped with at least a dozen children unnoticed after hijacking one of the armored vehicles on scene._

            "He's not getting caught," X said painfully.

            "They have to find him," Siren insisted. "There's no way they'll let him keep those kids."

            X shook his head. "There's not a cop, soldier or Hunter I know with the stones to challenge Azarias when the man has kids hostage, unless they have his head in crosshairs, which we do not."

            "Bullshit," Siren growled. "Zero?"

            Zero's hands were clenched into fists trembling with rage, but he said nothing. Not a thing.

            _Police chief Steven Conrad has asked for the help of Commander Michael Jameson, the head of the London chapter of the Maverick Hunter organization._

            "I was waiting for that," X said quietly.

            _The Gold Serpent group includes in its ranks Reploids such as Azarias who harm humans, thus legally qualifying the Hunters to intervene. Commander Jameson has said little other than that he has placed Commander Virgil Arcanus at the head of the investigation._

            "All right," Zero finally spoke, exhaling slowly and allowing some of the tension to pour out. "All right…"

            "Who's this?" Siren asked. But the newscaster answered for her, displaying a profile on screen of a strong-featured man with a wizened face and a leonine head of silver hair.

            _Commander Virgil, a Reploid sleuth known worldwide for his success in cracking the most daunting cases, joined the Maverick Hunters during the third uprising and helped locate and deactivate Maverick cells operating outside Doppler Town. He has experience tracking Gold Serpent's agents, and has even tracked Wildcard Azarias himself on one occasion in the past._

            "If there's anybody who can beat Wildcard," Zero said firmly, "it's Sherlock Virgil."

            "Yeah," X agreed, shaking his head distantly. "Jesus, why do these things have to happen like this? Couldn't they possibly have sniped the bastards?"  
            "I want to know about that Harding fuck," Siren snarled. "And whether or not they've castrated him yet."

            There was little new to be seen or heard. Neither X nor Zero received calls from Signas, so they assumed that they were not going to be required to interact with this scenario, much as both would have loved to give Virgil a hand. Suddenly, X realized, the pile of paperwork on his desk seemed a lot less big a deal, and he returned to it somewhat numbly.

            "Children," he whispered, his writing slow and methodical. "More children with that bastard…" Governor Lombard's eight-year-old daughter had been missing her hands when they found her, and his ten-year-old son had been tied down and cut across every major blood vessel. He'd bled to death while his mother watched. X's pen cut through the paper and he stopped, setting everything down and laying his head against the desk. No god created him and he doubted one would bother listening to his prayers, but he tossed one off anyway.

**Honda Surplus Warehouse**

**Okinawa, Japan**

            Traveling first class made a difference, Carlos thought. As a beginner in the assassin game he'd been stuck in the back with lousy service and screaming children, but after enjoying some success he'd begun taking jobs from people who were kind enough to finance their killers well. He was well rested after the flight and his mind was totally at ease. This was good—their time frame was not long. The mission had to be completed within four days, but fortunately Carlos doubted it would take them much longer than two. He was physically and mentally prepared to carry out this little murder.

            Carlos Sanchez had long since abandoned the perplexing web of theory that determined right and wrong. As a career opportunist he took jobs that paid well when they paid their highest, and morality merely got in the way of profit. Once he had enough capital he could start killing the people _he _wanted to kill, and that was something to look forward to, wasn't it?

            Of course, Victor had been tagging along every step of the way and likely would continue tagging along in the future. Carlos supposed there were worse things. He and Victor made a good team, and Victor's mindset and cunning made him one of the few people Carlos could get along with.

            A small man in a black sports jacket waved to the two assassins, who rose from their seats. "Gentlemen," the summoner said, "Mr. Maglev will see you now."

            The building was used off and on by the Honda automobile corporation as a storage warehouse, but Kou Cao's people called it home in the meantime. To the assassins' knowledge, the Serpent had yet to corrupt entire boards of directors of major corporations, but he'd turned one or two of the bigwigs to his side and the rewards of such efforts were easy to spot. This convenient meeting place was one of them.

            "Thank you," Carlos responded calmly, following the man through a series of offices until they arrived on the warehouse floor. The summoner led them to a stairwell near the east end of the empty chamber and waved to it.

            "Nice tour," Victor said amiably, handing over a few yen. "Don't spend it all in one piece, you hear?"

            "Do you really have to show off every god damned time?" Carlos asked as they descended the stairwell, letting the man return to his business.

            "Do you really have to be a robot every god damned time?" Victor countered.

            Carlos smiled. "Yes." They entered a dimly lit hallway where another man waited for them. Unlike the first man, this one was shrouded in a heavy white lab coat that seemed a bit too large for him. His skin was pale and his eyes were a kind of luminescent green that made both assassins think, "Reploid."

            "Come with me," he spoke quietly, turning on his heel. His coat followed his heels with a flourish. Victor shrugged and led the way, while Carlos examined their surroundings carefully. They were led into a large room that the scientist immediately sealed off once his guests were inside. "I welcome you, humans," he said in his cold, quiet voice. "Fate has determined, in its odd manner, that you and I should extend our hands in cooperation rather than extend our swords in open conflict."

            "I figured you for a Reploid, Mr. Maglev," Carlos said calmly, resting his hand on his hip very close to his personalized energy pistol. "But not a Maverick."

            "Why is it so shocking?" Maglev asked, raising his pale hands in an elaborate shrug. "In an organization such as this, profiteers of all sorts come together, and for different goals."

            "Spare us the lecture," Carlos cut him off again, his eyes as cold as Maglev's voice. "Get to the point. We're here to collect something. Do you have it?"

            Maglev chuckled, raising his hands again. Both of his guests blinked in surprise when they saw the limbs begin to flicker. "I have the weapon you seek, Carlos Sanchez. But first, explanations are in order." A white aura spread across his body, forming an iridescent outline that began to shift from something humanoid to something a little less so. The scientist grew an extra set of arms, a suit of magenta armor and a wicked looking segmented tail, complete with bladed pincers at the end. The Maverick insignia, a sharklike head composed of Greek sigma symbols, was still gleaming proudly on his forehead.

            "Being a Maverick was surprising enough," Carlos observed, his fingers tightening around his gun. "But one so prestigious…"

            "Release your weapon," Magna Centipede ordered calmly in his true voice—still methodical and cold, but also quite deep. "Or I'll reach for mine."

            "Fair enough," Carlos said evenly, backing off but still keeping a wary eye on the Reploid who'd corrupted an entire island's computer networks during the second Maverick uprising.

            "Hey now," Victor finally said, stepping forward. "We're all on the same team, aren't we? So let's get down to business."

            "I quite agree, Mr. Zokas." Magna smiled and extended a hand towards a metal table across the room. Magnetic currents dragged it and its contents towards the trio, and the Maverick presented to the assassins two adaman canisters. "May I present to you 'Nexnecis'…the next big thing from Kou Cao."

            "Nexnecis?" Victor frowned, studying the canister. It had what looked to be a steel ring around one end with circular indentations all around it, somewhat like the exhaust pipe of a flashy car. "What does it do?"

            "It kills, Mr. Zokas," Magna explained calmly. "It kills very nastily." He pointed to the steel ring at the end of one canister. "Inside is an airborne substance that will kill a Reploid in under a minute." He paused for effect. "You can imagine what it does to humans."

            "This is quite a risk, then," Carlos pointed out tersely. "What's so wrong with just shooting the target in the forehead?"

            "This assassination is more than the removal of a bothersome object," Magna responded. "It is also meant as a message…a very direct message, straight to Signas. The Serpent's gold venom must be identified as the killing agent."

            "If that's the case," Victor said thoughtfully, "then there are obviously similar attacks being planned as we speak."

            "Planned," the Maverick affirmed with a curt nod, "and executed. For, you see, the execution of this mission will require very little risk on your part, unless you're foolish enough to trigger the device yourselves." He crossed his upper pair of arms across his chest and gestured with the other two. "Find and follow the target. Set this trap where you know they will encounter it. By the time the death occurs, you can be well out of sight, and ideally already back here with me to collect your dues."

            "By which I assume you mean money, Maverick?" Carlos asked coldly. He was no angel, but Mavericks didn't exactly thrill him.

            Magna Centipede narrowed his strangely humanoid eyes into slits, clenching all four fists. "Times have changed, Mr. Sanchez. I no longer carry unreasonable hatred towards humans as a species…my targets are individuals, as are yours. Sigma may have other ideas, but Sigma is not alive at the moment and even if he were his genocidal schemes wouldn't get him any further than they ever have."

            "So why place your trust in a new leader?" Victor had to ask. "What's different between the Serpent and Sigma?"

            "The Serpent has tangible goals," Magna replied simply. "His new ally's objectives are slightly more complex, but from what I have seen he is well on his way to achieving them."

            "What exactly have you seen?" Victor asked with well-done nonchalance. The answer would likely indicate the exact reason he and Carlos were being called to action. Carlos said nothing, but it was clear he desired an answer as well.

            Magna Centipede smiled behind his mouthpiece. "You are not cleared for everything I am, humans. But since you'll hear of things soon enough anyway, I will tell you this much. Kou Cao tried to fill the void left by Sigma's departure, but he has much to claim yet. To achieve total dominion, he's joined hands with a warlord who has in his possession certain…unique technologies." His voice dropped a few notches. "Seven soldiers have joined the warlord. Originally there were five, all of whom joined of their own free will…but two were added rather recently to even out the group's power."

            Victor drew a sharp breath. "So they _were _kidnapped."

            "And you?" Carlos asked pointedly. "What's your role in this?"

            "I am a simple courier," Magna answered him, a grin in his voice. "I'm also passable with a keyboard."

            "Passable," Carlos replied smoothly to the infamous hacker. "Sure."

            "What about our mission?" Victor got back to business. "Is the target still the same?"

            "Your orders remain as they stood when Helm gave them to you." Magna retrieved a black case from below the table and fitted the Nexnecis canisters inside. "Transports for Tokyo leave on the hour from North Station. Set your trap and return here with absolute haste. Helm wants things wrapped up by the weekend."

            "That's two days," Victor pointed out.

            "So it is." The insectoid leaned back and luxuriously stretched all six of his limbs. "Do us all a favor and try not to get caught. I severely doubt the Hunters will be willing to forgive a slight like this."

            "We know what we're doing," Carlos said firmly, taking the case from the Maverick and nodding to Victor. "Let's go. We can start reconnaissance as soon as we arrive."

            "Works for me." Victor tipped an imaginary hat to Magna Centipede. "Later, then. Same time, same place?"

            "Correct." The Maverick smiled as the two humans turned and left the lab with their lethal weapon in tow. Then he turned back to the largest computer monitor in the room, letting the flickering white light it emanated cast a jumpy insect shadow behind him while curling his mandibles in a strange grin. "How curious is this…?" he mused aloud, cupping his chin in his upper right arm. "Humans and Mavericks, working together to bring down the Maverick Hunters?"

            The computer screen glowed bright green for the barest of seconds before resuming its dance of white light. The event was not lost on Magna Centipede, and his grin merely grew wider.

            "Such delicious irony comes but rarely in this imperfect world. The only thing tastier shall be the horror in their eyes when they learn the truth." He reactivated his cloaking device, shrinking to the form of a humanoid scientist once more. With a flourish of his lab coat, "Mr. Maglev" approached the doorway, stopping only to remotely deactivate the computer behind him. He tossed it one final salute before leaving.

            "Well then…to war!"


	5. The Fear In Their Eyes

Episode Three—The Fear In Their Eyes Personal Log, Cmdr. Signas 

_July 30_

_Operations are proceeding smoothly. The new modus operandi has been as well implemented as I can expect. We have finally compiled a complete file on the attacks in Moscow and Rathlin Island, and X will receive them in today's briefing. It seems that we may also have the opportunity to test our new global network—the criminal Wildcard Azarias has been sighted in England, and the detective Virgil is hot on his trail. All our resources have been mobilized to help Virgil track him down._

_Caligula has used Azarias's appearance to push his new security program, one that falls in line with the one the Megacity System is implementing. I must admit that I am sorely divided. X has voiced strong objections to the invasion of Reploid privacy, but Zero curiously vouched for the idea. With these most trusted advisors split on the issue, I'll have to wait and see what develops before making a final decision. Perhaps consulting Cain would not be unwise. He will return to Tokyo in two weeks. Until then we will continue as planned._

It is strange, but I have been feeling that something big is about to happen…something even bigger than the recent attacks. If Azarias is apprehended, perhaps my expectations will be fulfilled. Either way, I feel this will be an interesting few days.

***

**Warehouse**

**Warsaw, Poland**

            Goran Norquist smiled.

            It was the smile of satisfaction that came after a full day's work, a smile that twisted the corners of his thin lips upwards only enough to appear sufficiently smug. Then his features relaxed into their usual sharp, cold positions and he exhaled slowly and loudly. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and, rocking back on his heels, he stared contentedly out the window at the black Polish night. It had been a long day. It had also been a hard day, since the Hunter patrols seemed feistier than usual. It was so much harder to conduct operations with authorities breathing down your neck, and Norquist had been forced to separate a few Hunters from theirs. Their necks, he meant. Not himself, of course, but Zev and Diggory were good for that sort of messy business. Norquist didn't care so long as they cleaned up afterwards. He'd seen enough blood in his day that the only thing about it that unnerved him was that you could slip in it. Some of the nastiest head wounds had been sustained by slipping on blood. It was a dangerous thing, blood. Also it was unseemly.

            Truth be told, Norquist didn't think his guest, Guyver Helm, had minded the blood. Mr. Helm had been much more irked at the fact that the three Hunters had dared to intrude in the first place. Sending Zev and Diggory after them was just reflex, though Norquist wondered if the beheadings were perhaps a bit over the top. He himself had gone into mild shock, fretting that his operation had been discovered, but Mr. Helm had been very calm about the whole incident, saying that the disappearance of three Hunters would only help the Serpent's immediate plans—whatever that meant. In any case, Norquist was to send the proper files and equipment the next morning to the secure location Helm had mentioned. Norquist was privately surprised that the Serpent Network had developed a bastion so far into the European Union. It was something of an accomplishment for Kou Cao.

            "Zev," Norquist said. "Close shop."

            A tall, lanky blue Reploid with a permanent smirk and a mad look in his eyes scurried over to his superior's side, replying in a hurried voice, "Sir, sir, shop is already closed. We took care of it, Diggory, he and I, when the bigshot left."

            "Close it again," Norquist said simply. He took his hands out of his pockets and walked calmly towards his sleek black desk. He liked things sleek. His features were well sculpted despite his relatively slender overall build, and his gray hair was smoothly sharp. All in all Norquist presented enough contradictory perfection to set any conscientious observer on their guard, but he didn't mind the aura of infamy. It wasn't like he hadn't earned it.

            "Close it again," Norquist repeated, picking up a sealed file and draping a heavy brown coat around his shoulders, "because there are three headless Hunters in our garage."

            "Sir," Zev protested, gesturing far more than was necessary in a general direction, which may or may not have been towards the local Hunter Headquarters, "Mr. Helm said, he said that the Hunters hadn't radioed in, he said it was just a routine patrol—"

            "And we probably have nothing to worry about," Norquist cut him off, using a tone that was low and calm but still sharp as steel. "But on the off chance that those Hunters were being monitored—or perhaps, followed—"

            "Followed, sir?"

            Norquist fixed his underling with a patient stare. Zev had been with him almost from the start, but it seemed like the manic Reploid learned little from his experiences. Norquist knew better—Zev was one of the most attentive students he'd ever encountered, but he needed reminding once in a while. "You know our situation. Serpent bases in the Union don't last very long before someone takes them out. It's possible that someone—"

            "—Was tailing the Hunters and would have found us," Zev finished, his limbs shaking with unexpended energy. Zev was on permanent caffeine high. "I'll take Diggory."

            "Do that." Goran Norquist smiled his thin smile and slid the sealed file in an inner pocket of his coat. "I will see you tomorrow morning. Begin the file transfer as soon as possible."

            "Yes, boss," Zev saluted, quite unnecessarily, and skittered off to join a large, square-jawed brown Reploid reclining in a folding chair pretending to read the Future Times. Norquist knew Diggory couldn't read, but the brute was infinitely amused by pictures. Norquist wasn't sure how a walking computer could manage such feats of stupidity, but then, he'd given up on Reploids soon after their conception. He wasn't about to attempt to understand them now. Like Zev, they were useful tools, and little more.

            "People," Norquist hissed, heading for the warehouse garage, quoting the most recent demand from Reploid rights activists. "They want to be treated as people." People were not machines and machines were not people. It was as plain as that, but why was Norquist one of the few who realized it? All the Reploid race had ever produced was killers—the murderous Mavericks and the equally murderous Maverick Hunters…

            …Three of whom were buried under black plastic sheets to Norquist's right.

            The sight of dead Reploids, for Goran Norquist, demanded about as much pity as did a pile of broken microwaves. They were both remains of machines that no longer performed their proper functions. Oh, sure, there were some who came close to earning his respect—Guyver Helm, for example, and Kou Cao himself. But the majority of that "race" was getting far too ahead of itself with the whole "rights" situation. Norquist had found this viewpoint especially convenient in his days working for the late Alan Kitao. Ah, the Golden Years of Terrornova, Armada and Phoenix…where had they gone?

Alas, times changed, Norquist reflected, tossing a half-hearted salute to the Hunter corpses and starting on his way. Times changed, and so did people. Kitao was dead thanks to nuclear terrorists, and General Virdelko had gone soft. The only ones with any sense anymore were the simple crooks, though Norquist had learned to stop adding a derogatory connotation to "criminal". Only among the ranks of men like Kou Cao, Guyver, Doc Volvar and even that Dynamo asshole did Norquist feel at home…which made sense, considering he'd worked with most of them before, in government service no less! Kou had taken care of Terrornova, but Phoenix and Armada…

…Now those were his babies.

            Goran Norquist hailed a cab, which would take him to an out of the way area, where he would walk to his own car and drive the rest of the way home. It was far too roundabout for his tastes, but necessary considering the hostility of the European Union to Kou Cao's Serpent Network. Once inside his own vehicle he took out the sealed file Guyver had left him, slitting it open with a sharp thumbnail. He removed its contents—three sheets of information—and replaced them five minutes later with a ghoulish smile on his face.

            So, it was happening at last. The Warlord had finally positioned his pieces, and Kou Cao had decided it was time to bring Phoenix back to life. How perfectly…perfect. It was worth rubbing his thin hands together in anticipation. Reploids would be worse off for it—Norquist remembered the fear in the eyes of the last group—but it wasn't like they'd have a choice in the matter. That was the whole point, after all.

            And so Goran Norquist disappeared into the darkness from whence he came. Zev and Diggory, however, found themselves curiously enveloped by plain old darkness.

            "'Ay," the larger of the two grunted, gesturing towards the fuse box. "Think we ought ter sneak a peak at them bleedin' thunderplugs?" A thick, gruff British voice betrayed Diggory in Warsaw like the Mark of Cain in a nun's convent. "Them's the reason fer the last blackout."

            "Done, done and done," Zev chattered, slinking to the fuse box and fidgeting with a few wires. He'd never fully understood these things, but he'd learned that the proper amount of wire wiggling could accomplish quite a bit. He did notice that one of the surger circuits—handy devices that attracted and stored electrical currents—seemed loose. He removed it. "There we go," he chimed, as one by one the lights flickered back on.

            Zev, Diggory and the entire Serpent security team present at the warehouse knew of the mysterious threats posed to Kou Cao's operatives in the European Union. They knew well the stories of the bombed out Calais factory, the seized ships in the Mediterranean, and the operatives tied up in the Labyrinth of Knossos, which had seemed like a grand location for a base at first. But it was unclear how these attacks had been carried out so smoothly, and without any trace of the perpetrators, and so they had taken on an almost mythical quality among most of the Serpent's agents, and these grunts were no exceptions. You trained as best you could and kept alert, and if you saw something weird you shot it. That was how it went. They knew that someone was after them, so the element of surprise was lost. Military discipline, clearly, was not something the Serpent's network of common thugs was familiar with.

            That was why, when Zev saw movement in the thin air behind Diggory, he failed to instantly equate it with danger, even after the blackout. "Hey you," he called to whoever was there, presumably one of the grunts handling message transaction. "You, yes you, go check, please, if anyone is nervous about that lights out we just had." Diggory turned to add his own comment, but never got that far.

            Something hard hit Zev in his lower back…the toe of a heavy steel boot, he realized, curling into a ball as his body hurtled forwards. He rolled back to his feet and stood upright, which proved to be a mistake—his injured back buckled and he crumpled into a position not suited for combat.

            Had Diggory been quicker on the uptake he may have been able to respond in time. Instead he turned slowly and carelessly, with a rumbling "What in the name of Moses and his ark is this…?" before the same boot planted itself in his side. Diggory let out a gurgled grunt of surprise and pain, staggering backwards with Zev. The two recovered themselves in time to draw the adaman pistols on their belts, but their target—a slight, dark Reploid—was dancing out of sight and range with annoying efficiency. So focused were the two on this foe that they didn't notice their underlings shouting warnings about the mass of colors that had appeared behind them. It was a camouflage function that had allowed its user close enough behind the two hapless operatives to wrap his hands around the backs of their necks with surprising force.

            "'Ay, I do believe," said the new attacker, in a voice that perfectly mimicked Diggory's, "that it was Noah who built the ark." An internal generator came to life, and before Zev and Diggory had a chance to launch a counterattack they were assaulted by an electrical shock powerful enough to render them both unconscious. "Lummox," the figure added, dropping his victims and materializing. He was, like his partner, an averagely built Reploid with features that weren't exactly notable…except for his wild blue hair, which was quite hard to ignore. "Shall we show the buggers a bad time?" he asked in his own voice, a voice that possessed an Australian edge.

            "I would be very disappointed otherwise, Zade," the other man said with a thin smile, hoisting an assault rifle into firing position. "Bombs planted?"

            "Right as a beaver's buckteeth they are."

            "Good." The Reploid in black turned to face the advancing crowd of angry, armed Serpent operatives, most of them human. The sight made him smile. This was what he lived for. He activated his cloaking device and Zade clothed himself in the colors of the surroundings, melding like a chameleon into the warehouse scenery.

            The next two minutes were frantic but not overly taxing on the two invaders. Humans and Reploids fired randomly or made for the exits, only to be downed by stun shots from assault rifles that fired faster than their targets could run. When all the commotion was over two electromagnetic pulses were fired from grenades suited to that purpose, just in case Kou Cao had any nifty surprises in store. The blast shorted out both cloaking devices, but the wearers weren't worried. Their opponents had been incapacitated, and now their mission was essentially over.

            What they hadn't noticed was the surger circuit that Zev had been holding in his hand when Zade shocked him. They also hadn't noticed that Zev hadn't quite gone off to wonderland like the others, undoubtedly due to the surger absorbing most of the shock for him. And they certainly didn't notice Zev carefully pulling himself behind a row of computer equipment while sneaking a better look at his two adversaries.

            What they did notice was a strong, contended voice emanating from a room behind them, the room with most of the files Norquist wanted to transfer. They paid careful attention to the owner of that voice, a man in a heavy black trench coat carrying an ebon cane capped with a silver eagle's head, a man who even as he spoke was walking into the main control room like he owned the place…which, essentially, he did.

            "I think," were his words, calm, cool and methodical, "I think, Zade, Diavus…I think…" He stopped, placing his weight on the cane and smiling viciously, twirling a floppy disk in the fingertips of his gloved right hand. "I think we just justified our existence."

            "'Bout bloody time, Stralnikov." Zade affected a painfully casual yawn." I mean, I was gettin' awfully tired of not justifying our existence. Y'know?"

            Diavus ignored it entirely, speaking in his usual hurried, cautious manner. "I installed our Bug. Everything worth hacking should be ours in five."

            "Grand." Vlad Stralnikov's smile widened ever so slightly, or at least as widely as one of his smiles could. Even at its best, his smiles always looked conniving. He raised a hand as though to throttle an imaginary Gold Serpent. "We're going to reach down his throat and tear out his heart with fishhooks."

            "Your benevolence is duly noted," Zade offered, though his smile was no less anticipatory as he changed the magazines in his weapon.

            Pure, unbridled rage flew through Zev's mind. These people had, for all he knew, killed his men and were about to make off with some of the most highly classified information Kou Cao had to offer. It was an insult. They were Hunters, of that he had no doubt—so frenzied was his hyperactive mind that he didn't even consider that they had taken down humans as well—and they were probably here to avenge their comrades. Well he wouldn't have that, Zev thought as he brought his pistol up to bear, a pistol that fired the most destructive solid round on the market. He wouldn't have that at all. Besides, there was something eerily familiar about the Stralnikov man. Zev felt the strongest rush of déjà vu he'd had in his life, but was unable to place it.

            Well, it had a simple solution—you couldn't be all that familiar with the dead, could you?

            Diavus noticed it first. His security-minded eyes had covered the room repeatedly since his arrival, and motions in a still room—even motions partly concealed by computer equipment—could not escape as seasoned an observer as he. "Who's there…?" he called out, too late.

            The acknowledgement startled Zev as he pulled the trigger, and adding to the already shaky grip on his pistol this effectively ruined the headshot he'd lined up. The adaman bullet was not wholly wasted, however. It took the man in the trench coat high in his left shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him into the wall behind him.

            The air in the room crashed as surely as a fighter jet that had just been rendered wingless. The stricken man's head slowly turned to face the direction of the shot, a look of poison resonating in his multicolored eyes. His smile was gone.

            It was as though Zev had just chucked a rock at a hornet's nest, and a single hornet had emerged, only a really, really big, nasty monster of a hornet that made a swarm of littler ones seem preferable. Stralnikov snapped forward, bringing his cane to bear as the eagle's head took on a strange, darker coloration. Afraid, yet still quite angry, the Serpent operative squeezed off a few more rounds. Each time the pistol rocked back in his hands a new hole appeared in his target, but there was just something wrong about the wounds, like they were leaking fire instead of blood—

            Fire instead of blood?! He knew of only one other person who could do that…

            And just like that Stralnikov was gone, while his two aides stood transfixed—apparently they'd never seen such a spectacle before. A rush of air behind Zev told him too late where his opponent had relocated, and he turned just in time to feel Stralnikov's cane crack across his face. He fell hard to the floor, his weapon clattering out of reach, and he barely had time to scream before a beam of energy erupted from the base of the cane and punched a bloody hole through his chest.

            Zev choked on his own internal fluids, gazing up in alarm at his oppressor. It was only then that he began to notice the fire…that amazing fire, black instead of red, that followed Stralnikov wherever he moved and lingered around his person like a cloak of readily disposable death. The man raised his cane in his good arm to deliver the killing blow, but halted  when realization flickered in his eyes.

            "Dear me…Zev? Zev of Fort Edmonton?" His cane lowered, and his face relaxed from ferocious anger to something that, in the opinion of his prey, was far worse—malicious amusement. Zade and Diavus approached slowly, their weapons at the ready, attempting to keep an eye on their environment but ultimately letting their attention refocus on their always-enigmatic boss.

            "Well I'll be damned!" Stralnikov laughed, a rich, full laugh that would have put Zev on ease had he not been painfully dying. "Zev, you decrepit old sinner, what are you still doing alive?  Hanging with the same crowd, I assume?"

            "Eat me," the operative choked out, determined to be defiant in his last moments. "Whoever you are…you're just another…you're just another dead man…eventually!"

            "'Dead men walking have no need for talking,'" Stralnikov rhymed, in a curious tone. Something about the words called forth a dark memory from the back of Zev's mind, a memory that curdled what blood he had left. Stralnikov smiled sweetly. "You still don't recognize me, old friend? Let's rewind a few years, then, and see if that helps!" As he spoke, the dark flames surrounding him washed over his person, contracting in some places and expanding in others, dissolving the coat and clothes and ultimately solidifying into solid battle armor of the deepest ebon Zev had ever seen. The dark violet bodysuit under his gauntlets, chestplate and large armored boots was what finally completed the puzzle in Zev's overworked mind.

            "Malevex!" he hissed, more angry than confused. "It's…you…but you died!"

            "Death is in the eye of the beholder," the terrorist from Seraph Castle responded coolly. "And when enough fear is placed in those eyes, who can say who lives or doesn't live? I think Chartreuse even had one of his sick little rhymes about that…oh yes. 'Violent bloody sentiments, our victims wrought with fear…'"

            "'Despite it all, no evidence, for we were never here,'" Zev finished the morbid anthem, blinking through dimming optics. "You won't stop him," he rasped. His voice was level, determined. In death he was gaining the control over his hyperactivity that he never had mastered in life. "You…you've already lost!"

            "I'll be the judge of that." Just like that the cane was gone; in its place was a lightsaber. Malevex switched it on, a burning blade of deep crimson that, reflecting off his black armor and with the fire around him, made him look quite the devil. "Chartreuse only wins when people stop fighting him. He doesn't have that luxury now…not anymore."

            "Idiot," Zev growled, determined not to show fear. "What makes you think I'm…talking about Chartreuse?" He laughed, painfully. "Put…Terrornova out of your mind…for one bloody second and remember…remember Phoenix. Remember Armada. Remember her!"

            Malevex's fingers tightened on the hilt of his weapon. Flames seemed to flicker in his eyes like the ones surrounding his person, but the display of fury was undermined by the fact that his face had just gone ashen. "You're bluffing."

            "No!" Zev laughed again. His voice was getting weak. "You'll take the files…you'll see. Project Phoenix never dies! She lives, she lives, we made sure of it, oh yes we did! And so long as you live…she'll hate you…she'll hunt you!" Zev laughed again, noticing that the world seemed much darker than it had a few seconds ago. "Scorpio…oh, Scorpio…she does carry grudges…doesn't she?" He looked his killer right in the eye. "You can kill me, and Norquist, and all number of small fries…but you'll never save yourself from Chartreuse…or from the Four!"

            Malevex regarded the fallen Serpent operative with an almost businesslike finality. Blood fell from his shoulder wound, dripping onto the floor in an ominous, wet rhythm. Finally the Maverick spoke, with a cold smile that only Zev saw. "Well…old friend…you're right about one thing."

            Before Zev could part his lips to say more, the lightsaber had occupied the hole in his chest. Tendrils of black fire snaked down Malevex's arms, flowing onto the blade and crawling into Zev's body. He was aware of nothing but his own screaming as his insides began to incinerate, and then there was nothing, just an inky darkness.

            Malevex deactivated his weapon and raised his head to acknowledge Zade and the returning Diavus, who had fled to collect the files hacked with his Bug after Zev had mentioned them. He had missed the grand finale. "I'm not always this cranky," Malevex protested, lamely. He leaned back on a shelf full of equipment and winced. It seemed he was just now becoming aware that his left shoulder was dripping blood and had a rather large hole in it. "I just…don't like blue people."

            "…That was bloody awesome!" Zade was finally able to gasp.

            "Are you all right?" Diavus asked, far more practical than his counterpart.

            Malevex stood upright, lowering his gaze to the departed Serpent operative and former lackey for Projects Phoenix and Terrornova. He spat on the corpse. "We need to leave. Things are going to get very interesting…very soon."

            "Anything we need to worry about?" Diavus asked with a frown.

            "Well…" his boss said, his voice sounding somewhat distant as his battle armor melted back into the trench coat he'd worn on arrival.

            "…I don't recommend you go to Tokyo anytime soon."

            Ten minutes later three Reploids left the Warsaw factory, entered their own vehicle, drove it to a pre-designated safe point and teleported home to Yekaterinberg using their encoded frequencies.

            Ten minutes after the intruders left the premises, bombs detonated that took the entire warehouse apart.

            Ten minutes after that, Goran Norquist received a nasty phone call.

***

Future Times, July 30

_"COUTEAU STEPS UP ANTI-REPLOID MEASURES AS INCIDENTS CONTINUE"_

_By Roland Duke, Hunter Correspondent_

_MC5, NEW YORK—New blows fell today upon the campaign to establish stronger Reploid rights in the Megacity System when Secretary of Defense Xander Couteau approved a list of priorities generated by General Robert Jackson. Among the priorities is increased funding for Reploid screening and supervision methods._

_The report comes after a series of heated debates between Defense Cabinet members over issues primarily regarding Reploid privacy. Key areas were the proposed "branding" of Mavericks, and a new device to be installed in Reploids at birth that would allow military and Maverick Hunter personnel to locate individual Reploids at any time._

_  
"Given recent events," Couteau explains, "the Defense Cabinet was unable to disregard the merits of General Jackson's proposal." Couteau, 60, is himself regarded as a moderate with a conservative edge who prides himself on hearing both sides. "I understand that there are some people who are disappointed with our recommendation, but it is our job to ensure the security of the Megacity System, and I am confident that this plan, while not perfect, will be effective in protecting our people." The Defense Cabinet's recommendation will appear before the Executive Cabinet on August 18th, where the final vote will take place._

_General Jackson, the force behind the bill, attempted to downplay critics' accusations that his plan is racist. "This is a good bill and it was created with good intentions," said Jackson, 56. "When humans go on the warpath, they're punished and monitored. But humans don't cause mass outbreaks of madness. By taking these measures, we ensure that subduing Maverick Reploids, quarantining the Maverick Virus, and protecting civilians becomes infinitely easier."_

_Jackson's strongest opponent is Lt. General Klementi Virdelko, who recommended that less intrusive measures be found to deal with Reploid aberrance. "For years now we have employed an effective pre-emptive policy against suspected Mavericks," said Virdelko, 58. "But now we are recommending that same pre-emption be used on civilians who are not even suspects. Law abiding Reploids do not deserve to be tracked and monitored their whole lives. They do not deserve an internal Big Brother watching them at all times."_

Virdelko's opinion represents a growing feeling among some members of the population, primarily in groups related to the Maverick Hunters, that Reploids afflicted by the Maverick Virus are victims rather than criminals and should not be held accountable for actions taken while under Sigma's influence.

_"If the truth be known," said Couteau himself, at an April 12th conference regarding this issue, "the Megacity System has never made it their policy to persecute Maverick Reploids who have been flushed clean of Sigma's virus. The true issue here is, what do we do with virus victims who, while momentarily cured, continue to show symptoms and are potentially unstable? At what point does protecting society become more important than protecting the individual? I don't have all the answers, but what I know is, I'm supposed to protect society. That's my job, and that's what my policies will focus on."_

_The controversial recommendation comes after a string of violent incidents occurring at various points on the globe. At least four Megacity Army bases have been attacked in the last three months by individuals identifying themselves as "Reploid liberators". Two European Union bases have met similar fates. Also, the Gold Serpent Network seems to have reappeared within the System and are suspected in several incidents including the hijacking of an Army supply train._

_More recent events include the mysterious explosion in an underwater Army research laboratory near Ellis Island that contaminated most of Megacity 5's water supply. Army intelligence has issued warrants for a female Reploid named "Alutriel"._

_Rounding out the list are the attacks on _CP Resolute _in Northern Ireland and the devastating Moscow fracas two weeks ago. According to Jackson, incidents like these could have been prevented with his proposed measures._

_"We live in a world where your best friend could wake up and kill you and your family, all because of a sudden, unanticipated glitch," Jackson asserts. "For everyone's protection—Reploid and human alike—we must act, and we must act now."_

__________

**Hunter Headquarters**

**Tokyo**

_It's early. Why is it so early?_

            Vulcan jogged towards the so-called Wormswood Forest with more on his mind than he would have liked. His pace was brisk, but Hawkins was still quite a ways ahead of him. His superior had been right, Vulcan admitted. The running hardly tired his mechanical body and it _was _easier to think. The problem now was that there was not much to think about. His dreams had been peaceful for once.

            _It's too early. Illegally early._

            Vulcan knew it was too early because it was cold, and this was the middle of summer. The sun was only now claiming its rightful place in the sky, and while its warmth was a blessing there was still a sea breeze that was doing a fine job of pissing Vulcan off. Wormswood was very close to the ocean. Vulcan supposed it made for nice scenery, but he'd never exactly taken the chill effect into consideration.

            It's so early, the trees haven't woken up yet, he thought, passing into the groggy embrace of the thicket of trees the Hunters called a forest. They're all standing there, dreaming about two idiots running by them at ungodly hours of the morning, and they're laughing, they're saying "Ha ha, what a pair of goobers! If I was awake I clothesline them with a branch and strangle them with tree roots. Then I'd have a beer." Vulcan found himself hating nature this morning.

            As much as he hated being awake even earlier than vegetation, he had to admit that the constant smooth motion running provided—when you weren't being clotheslined by tree branches, as Vulcan nearly was when he neglected to keep his eyes on the overgrowth—did wonders for his mind. For one thing, he couldn't stop thinking. Albeit he was thinking about being strangled by trees, but his mind was moving nonstop. It would be nice, he thought, if he ever had something on his mind, to take a run and sort everything out.

            However, by some cruel joke of fate, he'd slept fine last night and had nothing to think about except Ents.

            He supposed it wouldn't be so bad, being killed by monster trees. It would definitely be something to tell the boys over on the other side. "I had an abrupt encounter with a semi truck," one would say. Another would say something stupid like "My bread got stuck in the toaster, so I broke out the fork and…" But Vulcan would be able to say, "I got brutally murdered by—

Jesus!"

            The sight probably wouldn't have been so meaningful if it hadn't been so sudden: two nearly identical trees rose out of the ground directly across from each other, flanking the trail like two of those British sentries who stood around with serious expressions on their faces and wouldn't say anything, even though they had to want to garrote you for trying to make them speak.

            "Ah," said Hawkins knowingly, jogging back to join his comrade, who'd come to a standstill. "I see you've found the Pillars."

            "That's what you call them?" Vulcan asked absentmindedly, examining them closer.

            "Mhm." Hawkins locked his hands together behind his head and gave a mighty stretch, cracking joints with a satisfactory sigh and wiping away some of the mild perspiration on his brow—not all Reploids could sweat, but Hawkins was one of them. "Someone planted them here for aesthetic reasons, obviously, unless nature is really this freakish."

            "I'd believe it," said Vulcan, who was imagining how he would react if the trees suddenly tried to clothesline him. "You pass here every morning?"

            "Mostly," Hawkins said with a shrug. "You know my day doesn't end with training and patrol. Archer wants me working on unit management, and I help Intel with some paperwork." Another shrug. "Sometimes, when things are really happening, it helps to sort things out in your mind before starting the day. I think so, anyway."

            "And there's a lot going on right now?" Vulcan reasoned, given that Hawkins seemed quite set on this exercise regimen.

            "Well…" His superior grinned. "Nothing I could tell you that you'd care about, save that we're investigating the incidents in Moscow and Northern Ireland."

            "What did happen with those?" Vulcan asked with mild interest as the two of them began walking away from the curious trees. The Pillars, huh…wonder if that's what they call themselves…when they wake up, that is…

            "Mavericks attacked," Hawkins replied simply, shrugging yet again. "That or it was the Serpent. We're leaning towards the latter, actually. Matter of fact, now that I think about it, Mason and Archer are supposed to present the final report to the commanders this morning."

            I'll call one Bob, Vulcan mused, his mind still on the Pillars. Bob's a good name. "Anything else? You know, stuff that the world doesn't know about yet and that I'm not cleared for?"

            "Vulcan, believe me when I say this, the things you're not cleared for aren't things you'd give a shit about if you were." Hawkins laughed and brushed damp locks of his long dark hair away from his eyes. "We have little police actions going on across the globe shutting down various Serpent storehouses and minor bases. If anything, Wildcard Azarias will be our most interesting bust in terms of actual progress. If Virgil can catch him, that is."

            "Azarias?" Vulcan didn't know much about Wildcard, save that he was a bad guy on the loose who had kidnapped children. Which, when he thought about it, was all he really needed to know. "He any closer to being nabbed?"

            "Virgil's tight-lipped," Hawkins explained, in the tone of voice of one who is trying to show respect for the methods of a wise old soldier who he wished wouldn't be such a wise old tightass. "But his team is in the field, and last we heard they were examining Grantham, England."

            Bob…Bob and who else? Pete? Larry? Freud? No, Freud was a prat. "Anything else going on?" What should the name be…

            Hawkins considered this for all of half a second before deciding, screw it, Vulcan was trustworthy. "Someone blew up a chemical facility on Ellis Island. US immigration's probably pissed, eh?"

            "Larry," Vulcan said, confidently. Then he stiffened slightly, the telltale Did-I-Say-That-Out-Loud look plastered on his face. "Sorry. Ellis Island? Isn't that—"

            "The Statue of Liberty," Hawkins agreed, choosing to ignore Vulcan's momentary oddity. "She looks like her dress could use a good dry cleaning, but she's still important to Americans. This chemical plant was apparently underwater, anyway. Megacity officials are struggling to contain any pollution—"

            "Right! That'll work well!"

            "Tell me about it. Anyway they're looking for a fugitive named Alutriel. They think she blew the place up. I'd say she's probably a Maverick still gloomy about Seraph Castle who thought she'd get revenge on her own."

            "By contaminating a Megacity's water supply," Vulcan finished the thought with a shudder. "You gotta admit it's clever. Ghoulishly, heartlessly, maliciously evil, but definitely clever."

            "So were the Buzzbombs," Hawkins replied, deadpan. They left Wormswood behind them, walking the straight stretch back to the HQ. Hawkins glanced curiously towards the nearby beach, so close by that the sounds of waves and seagulls were audible even deep inside Wormswood Forest. "Interesting…"

            "Eh?"

            "Delates is late."

            Vulcan blinked. He knew Zero's second in command from brief training lessons, but what he'd be doing at the beach each morning eluded Vulcan. "Late for what?"

            "There are seagulls down there," Hawkins explained, motioning. "Well, Delates calls them seagulls. He doesn't know what they are, but they look like seagulls and apparently they make a really funny noise or something."

            Vulcan blinked again. It wasn't a very satisfying explanation. "So he goes every morning to…"

            "Listen to birds make funny noises," Hawkins finished with a severe nod.

            "Sounds like he has quite the imagination."

            "Sounds like he's quite retarded."

            "Or that, yeah."

            They marched in ponderous silence for a while until the base loomed before them. Hawkins came to a halt in front of the Zen Garden, arguably the favorite spot of the base commanders, where he stretched again in his luxurious way. "Well, that was therapeutic."

            "Sure."

            "I mean, it must have helped you think a little better."

            "Sure."

            "Same time tomorrow morning."

            "Sure," Vulcan conceded. The only thing he really disliked about the running was the fact that he had to get up so early. He didn't really need sleep, he thought—a good half-hour in one of the recharging bays in the medical ward would bring him to full power. The problem with that was there was nothing to do for the six hours of night in which no one else was awake to mess around with. Oh well…there was no such thing as a free lunch, after all, and he'd just have to get used to crawling out of bed, just as Hawkins would have to get used to Vulcan looking like a corpse during these early hours.

            Hawkins fired off a little salute and strolled into the main doors of the Headquarters. He had morning briefings and whatnot. Vulcan, on the other hand, wanted to clean up a bit before reporting for training.

            "You know what happens to Reploids who exercise?" said a quiet, methodical voice, directly behind Vulcan's ear.

            The Hunter snapped around like a mousetrap. "You."

            "They show up the humans who exercise," said Commander Tremont, standing in a pose that screamed the word "blah", holding a mug of coffee half-heartedly in one hand, a file folder in the other, and wearing the best I-Don't-Want-To-Be-Alive expression Vulcan had ever seen. "And the embarrassed humans replace all the showoff Reploid's movies with recordings of old commercials featuring Carrot Top."

            Vulcan shook his head slowly, getting over his momentary shock and taking in the image of the disheveled leader of the Steel Wind aerial brigade. "You should put a bell around your neck, Alec."

            "What fun would that be?" the pilot asked, a halfhearted smile tugging at his tired lips. "Going to the barracks?"

            "Yep."

            "Walk with me." Alec turned and led the way, the yawning Reploid following lazily. "So what got you started on this running crap?"

            Vulcan shrugged. "It helps Hawkins sort out his thoughts. I gotta admit, I've tried worse things."

            "Keep them from me, please," Alec advised, taking a sip of his coffee. "And yeah, a good run does wonders for the mind. I used to run often, before I busted up the old leg."

            That was worth a snicker. "You've never so much as sprained your ankle, Alec, much less broken it."

            This time the pilot's grin was energized. "No, but I did a pretty good job of convincing Commander Taggart otherwise."

            They walked a little further towards the residential sector of the base, where Alec regularly caught a jeep to Sakimoto Airfield after his morning briefing…but the morning briefing hadn't happened yet, had it? Vulcan frowned. Had Alec sought him out for something…?

            "How's Rykov?" Alec interrupted his thoughts. "Haven't had a chance to talk to him much lately."

            "Ry's fine. Still breaking everything he touches."

            "I knew he wouldn't disappoint me. And the Lady Krysta?"

            "Nothing to report." Somehow he managed to say it with a straight face.

            "Mm." Alec slowed, affecting a somewhat conspiratorial grin. "You know," he said, giving Vulcan a light elbow in the ribs, "that gal's got some admirers."

            "Unsurprising," Vulcan replied, amazed at his self-control. Plus he was yawning when Alec said it, which helped him mask the inexplicable jolt the words caused him. "She's not exactly hideous, is she?"

            "Specifically," Alec went on, still conspiratorial, like Communists were listening around every turn, "specifically this fellow in R&D…goes by the name 'Jarkeld'. I hear he's quite interested."

            "Why exactly are you telling me this?" Vulcan finally caved, hoping to Light he couldn't turn red. He always forgot. "It's her business, not mine."

            Alec chewed a lip pensively. "Okaaaay," he said, nodding knowingly in that infuriating, Alec-like way that let Vulcan know his friend was on to him. Which was bothersome, because Vulcan had just managed to put Krysta out of his mind. "Well, just letting you know. If she disappears or anything, you'll know who kidnapped her."

            "Some guy named Jarkeld in R&D. I'll be sure to let Caligula know of his imminent threat to our security."

            "Do that." They reached the doorway leading into the barracks. Alec came to a halt, suddenly appearing slightly awkward. "Uh, actually, I wanted to ask you something else."

            "I had that feeling," Vulcan replied. Then he had to laugh at Alec's consternation. "Come on, man, what is it? You gonna propose, or something?"

            "I'm out of your league," Alec retorted. "Besides, I'm taken, by a very lovely lady who—"

            "—Isn't what you want to talk about?"

            "Exactly." Alec composed himself, trying to shrug the issue off and make it look trivial. "Okay…you'd consider yourself one of the more well-grounded people around here, right?"

            Vulcan blinked slowly. "I'm seeing a shrink," he offered, in that helpful tone of voice reserved for the worst of patronizations.

            "…All right, smartass, I'll rephrase. You, Rykov, Krysta…the three of you know bullshit when you see it?"

            "What kind of bullshit are we talking about…?"

            "The racial kind?"

            Vulcan blinked again. "Alec, is that what you were afraid to ask?"

            The pilot shrugged his shoulders, fidgeting as though this were the absolute last conversation in the world he wanted to be in right now, which in fact it was. "There are some folks—well, let me put it this way, okay? You know what the world is like right now."

            Vulcan did know. "The world is batshit. It's election season."

            "On a global basis. Do you know how long it's been since major elections in the System and the Union have coincided so closely?"

            "Yeah. Twelve years."

            "But a lot has happened in those twelve years," Alec pressed, apparently not in the mood for sarcasm. "Namely four major wars and a sprinkling of smaller uprisings, including nuclear warfare near Times Square. The issue this season is Reploid rights."

            "Reploid rights have dominated most elections, though."

            "But this is the first time in your race's history that more than half the planet can be swayed toward or against you in one fell swoop."

            Well that certainly soured the mood. Vulcan suddenly found himself wishing he'd paid more attention to recent bureaucratic bickerings. "So you're afraid there might be tension here…?"

            "I'm not, to tell you the truth." Alec gestured behind him. In actuality he had just gestured towards a wandering Mettool drone, but Vulcan could gather he was referring to the Authorities Inside The HQ (though Vulcan sometimes wondered if Mettool drones and Authorities shared common traits, namely brains). "I was asked to check around, is all. Apparently I'm good with people."

            "It must be your boyish charm."

            "Screw off. I mean that with the utmost respect."

            "See what I mean? You're a natural. You should take Ryoko's old press job."

            "You think they'd hire me?" Alec asked, tilting his head and sounding interested. "I mean, if I had my way the press would know nothing about our operations so they can't leak it to Kou Cao, but if they must be told I'd feel better if I was the one in control of the information flow." He paused. "You think Signas would feel better if I was in control?"

            Vulcan's face bore a look that suggested he just didn't want to be the one to crush a friend's dream.

            "Thought so." Alec smirked. "Besides, I might have to start behaving, and what's worth that?"

            "Exactly."

            "Even if it is an extra paycheck."

            "Exactly."

            "What were we talking about?"

            "My race hating yours and vice versa, I think."

            "Right." Alec shrugged again. "So if you'll hear anything, you'll let me know, right?"

            "Yeah, sure. Who are you asking around for, by the way?" Alec told him. Vulcan raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "Ah. So that's where this Jarkeld thing is coming from?"

            "Ooh," Alec said blandly, sipping at his coffee again. "You remembered his name."

            "Screw off."

            "Utmost respect?"

            "You bet." Vulcan turned to leave, but tilted his head back towards Alec with a frown. "So this racism crap is happening on other bases, then?"

            The pilot's face seemed profoundly disappointed. "Apparently?"

            "Wow." It was Vulcan's turn to shrug. "I haven't seen it, man. If I do, I'll give you a buzz, all right?

            Alec nodded. "Go away. I have a briefing to go to, and I'm already late."

            "You don't look like you're in much of a hurry."

            Tremont grinned. "I'm dodging Zero. I'm pretty sure this is the last of the coffee, and you know how he gets…"

            Vulcan flat out laughed. "Good luck." He took his leave of the pilot, heading towards his quarters to fetch his weapons. From there he'd have a very slight bit of free time before heading to training. His unit's patrol, thankfully, didn't fall until the evening hours today, and he'd have most of the day to himself.

            As he walked he caught himself glancing at the hallway leading to the main sector of the HQ, where he knew the Research and Development department was located. Jarkeld, eh… He shook his head, feeling foolish. He had already decided those emotions didn't amount to anything, and was comfortable with that. Why open Pandora's Box again? As he stepped into his room, he had already forgotten that part of his conversation with Alec.

            Jarkeld is a stupid name, he caught himself thinking five minutes later.

__________

"Looks like an easy day for you, X."

            The champion Hunter grunted something in reply to his associate, continuing at his brisk pace through the crowded hallway. "Easy is in the eye of the beholder, Alia," he clarified eventually. "What's up?"

            Alia leafed through the series of files in her arms, keeping perfect step with her commander. "Well, Douglas wants the 17th's field test results of that new elephant gun."

            "You know it's really just a pistol."

            "Can it take the head off an elephant, X?"

            "Yeah."

            "Then I'm calling it an elephant gun. Aside from that, you know you get to brief them about the—"

            "The attacks," he finished. They rounded the last corner on the way to the meeting room where X held the morning briefings, the Hunter himself looking quite proper in a dark blue shirt tucked neatly into black pants and Alia looking much the same, though she sported instead a more casual yellow tee-shirt that added emphasis to her ear-length blonde hair. Both were speaking rapidly in a very consistently deadpan tone of voice, as was the morning custom. "Any meetings? I'm getting sick of meetings, Alia."

            "It's the way of the world, X," the Huntress replied, handing over the briefing file that would be X's Bible for the next twenty minutes.

            "I should be taking the heads off of monstrous fiends," X protested as he took the proffered file. "Not sitting around in meetings."

            "Now you're talking, Hercules."

            "Anything else?" X asked, preparing to enter the meeting room.

            "Yeah, Jen Sun called again. I told her you'd be more than happy to talk to her after the meeting."

            "You did _what?_" X wheeled around to face her.

            Alia's features took on a sinister benevolence. "Aw, X, you shoulda heard her! She wants you to do a commercial for kids about staying drug free. There'll be baseball players and famous actors and everything!"

            "I'm not doing a commercial for Jen Sun about being—she does realize I'm a _robot_, right?"

            "No, X, last time she checked she probably figured you for a Reploid. You know, father of the race—"

            "Whatever! Look, if I'm a Reploid, doesn't it follow that I _have _to be drug free?"

            "The target audience will be too young to know that. It's okay to lie to kids, X, everyone's doing it nowadays."

            "I'm not lying to kids."

            "Can I do it then?" Alia begged in her infuriating way, the one where X never knew if she was serious or not—though almost always it was the latter. "I mean, if they get Jake Karrick to do the commercial too, then _whoa_!"

            "You have more important things to do, my friend. Plus I hate Jen Sun."

            "Okay," Alia said brightly, turning to leave. "You can tell her when she calls back."

            "Or how about you take the call for me, since you got me into this?"

            Alia raised one shoulder and slouched the other, in an overly haughty gesture. "Really, X, I'm not your secretary."

            "Oh." X nodded elaborately. "You just manage my files and screen most of my calls for the thrill of it?"

            "I _happen_ to be a fully qualified dispatcher with combat training."

            "Who also _happens_ to have a big enough heart to give of her free time to assist her commander?"

            "Yes, a commander who could one day serve as the recommendation I need to really hit it big in the telemarketing business!"

            "And here I thought it was because you liked me."

            Alia grinned coyly, scooting back towards him. "Do you want me to like you? Just say the word, bud."

            Her commander had to laugh at this. "Do you enjoy wasting my time, Alia, or is it just another of your wide-ranging dispatch duties?"

            "That," she agreed, "and the knowledge that you'd never last a day without me."

            "Get outta here."

            She backed away, starting back to the 17th Unit's common room and workstations. "I'll send the elephant gun results to Douglas."

            "Find me later," he called after her. "And do something about Jen Sun."

            "You owe me," Alia called back before vanishing around the corner. X couldn't repress a small smile. His dispatcher was, he thought, the ultimate test of intelligence. An outside observer might regard her as a vapid airhead if they weren't smart enough to detect the coy sarcasm that laced most of the friendly Huntress's words and actions. X found her not only quite intelligent, but also one of the more charming people he'd encountered on the job. He also did have to admit that he wouldn't have gotten very far on this new track without her help.

            "Who's Jen Sun?" Alec Tremont asked gruffly as he joined X in entering the meeting room. X didn't overlook Alec's relief at arriving at the same time as the boss—if one was going to be late, one had better be late with the best of them.

            "Remember that chick who wanted Archer and Mason to do that anti-drug commercial a month back…?"

            "Oh, her. She does realize you're _robots_, right?"

            "No Alec," X couldn't resist, "last time she checked she probably figured us for Reploids."

            Alec blinked at him, unsure whether to be amused or not. "You technical bastard."

            "I'm just getting warmed up!" X announced, strolling across the chambers towards his seat at the head of the lengthy meeting table. "The sun is up on a new day, the birds are crooning, the world is our oyster—"

            "X!" The voice, a desperate groan, stretched that one syllable out as long as was possible. "Where's the coffee?"  
            "—And just like that I'm back down here in Hell," X finished in the same breath.

            "It's your responsibility to have the coffee!"

            "You know where to find more, Zero," X stepped up to his whining friend and dropped an outline for the briefing in front of him. "I've got enough responsibility running this outfit."

            "Excuses!"

            "He's got a point, X," the purple-haired Commander Luna opined from her seat across from Zero. The leader of Unit 20 affected a pout that put Zero's to shame. "We can't work without our coffee!"

            "Morning Luna," X carried on, unable to quell the usual feeling that he was dealing with kindergartners. "You're looking quite sane today."

            "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Luna growled, taking the outline from X's hands.

            "Archer, Mason," X greeted them, distributing his materials. "How's life."

            "Wonderful."

            "Couldn't be better."

            "You're kissing up," X groaned, crossing to the other side of table. "You want something."

            "This guy's good," Archer acknowledged through a thin smile.

            "Erich, ready for the brand new day?"

            "Birds crooning, sun rising," Commander Zegmann acknowledged, looking over the outline. "And with your promise that the world is our oyster, what could go wrong?"

            "Atta boy. Alec, how's…nah, I already schmoozed you," X said dismissively, half-heartedly tossing the pilot his reading materials.

            "Commander X," Alec said, grinning. "Our people person."

            "He's nice to me," Damia said as she accepted her materials, batting her eyelashes.

            "And what do you want?" the Azure Hunter asked with the false pessimism he'd been using thus far.

            "To be a positive influence on your life," Unit 8's leader replied lazily.

            "Jen Sun wants to find positive role models. Want to be a good influence on children?"

            "…Meh. Screw 'em."

            "Jake Karrick," Luna mouthed across the table.

            Damia blinked. "X, you were holding out!"

            "It's what he does," Zero chimed in. "Holds out on info, holds out on coffee…"

            "Oh, it's not the end of the world," X retorted, taking his own seat.

            "Maybe not to you but you know what happens when I don't—"

            "What happens, Zero?" X said, rifling through papers while looking uninterested.

            "I bitch. And I know it pisses you off, so you can stop pretending to be a professional." They both found themselves smirking. Both were the experts on pissing one another off. Infuriating each other was what best friends did.

            "Okay, a good morning to you all," X said in his For Real voice. "I hope you all had good sleeps, because we've got a lot coming our way today."

            "Do we really?" Alec queried.

            "No, but let's at least pretend so until the reporters leave." X cleared his throat and got right to the most important item of business. "Commander Gorov has finished his investigations and sent us his final report on the attacks in Moscow two weeks ago."

            "That's me," Archer took over, pulling out his own notes. "All right, Gorov believes, and Douglas concurs, that anywhere from two to four armed Reploids were in on this. Weapon residue indicates that the culprits used Zeta class laser weapons and a variant of the Dozer missile launcher. Clearly they weren't interested in giving Revenant and Haley a fair chance."

            "Assassination," Zero murmured, definitively. The word was like a bucket of cold water on each of their heads. Nobody wanted to think about the implications of assassination attempts on Hunter leaders.

            "Douglas says the lasers got rid of the girlfriend," Archer resumed. "Fragments of Revenant's armor were found on scene and the edges weren't singed, which leads the techies to believe that he was struck with some solid weapon. Definitely it wasn't the Dozer—we'd have found more of Revenant lying around if it had been. There were no other signs of life on the scene, and the official conclusion is that Revenant is deceased. Probably he was vaporized the same as Haley."

            "Do we know why, yet?" Mason wondered.

            "Aside from being the foremost Hunters in Russia, you mean?" Archer turned to the next page of Gorov's report. "Whatever personal enemies Revenant and Haley had, you can bet the only ones able to procure weapons like the Zeta and the Dozer have to belong to some kind of organized group."

            "Meaning Mavericks," Alec clarified.

            "Or the Gold Serpent Network," Archer added.

            "How feasible is that?" asked a quietly worried Commander X.

            "Difficult to say." Archer set down the report. "Frankly, the issue isn't whether or not they can get the weapons. Chartreuse is the guy who set up the Seraph Castle Mavericks with both their nukes and the Marauder ride armor—believe me, they've got the weapons. The question is, are they confident enough in their capabilities that they're now directly challenging the Hunter upper echelon?"

            "Even more interesting," Damia mused, "is that this happened in the Union. Chartreuse could be taking out his anger at not establishing a foothold there on the Hunters."

            "Get rid of the Hunters, get rid of the obstacles," Archer agreed.

            "Trouble is," Zero muttered, "I'm not always sure it's us who are keeping him out of Europe."

            "Why's that?" Archer inquired.

            "Just a hunch." Only X noticed the brief flicker in Zero's eyes.

            "How likely is Kou Cao to make his first strike in a territory he doesn't control?" Mason asked, somewhat skeptically.

            "How likely is Kou Cao to do anything?" Archer shrugged. "There were no witnesses. Whoever executed this attack vanished as quickly as they came. Only one person saw anything, and they described what reminded them of a scorpion's tail in Rovanin Park."

            "A scorpioid?" X frowned. "How many of those can be out there?"

            "Caligula already ran the checks," Archer answered, pushing a sheet of pictures forward. "These Reploids are primarily desert patrol and maintenance units, and the few that had Maverick connections were accounted for." Again he shrugged. "It was a brief glance from a woman waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of explosions. It could have been anything."

            "Whatever it was," Mason said, after a lengthy silence had drowned the room, "it wasn't the only attack that night, was it?" Unit 3's commander produced his own papers. "I have the report on the Rathlin Island battle from the Megacity Army."

            "The paragons of effective intelligence gathering," Damia deadpanned.

            "The UK's Coast Patrol lost one of their mini-battleships, the Resolute," Mason went on. "In all honesty, they don't know what the hell was used on that ship. What they deciphered was that there were immense blasts of electricity and fire that struck the Resolute, initiating the internal explosions that destroyed the ship. Its captains, Brian Wolcott and James Reardon, along with most of the crew died in combat against what the four survivors describe as 'vultures', and a large Reploid that resembled a sphinx."

            "Now I know there can't be many of those."

            "Correct, X—eight on record, and all are security Reploids manufactured by an Egyptian company. All were at their scheduled posts that night."

            "Not surprising," Zero shrugged. "The only ones capable of pulling off stunts like this are the ones who are very good at not officially existing."

            "Wasn't there another ship?" Alec remembered.

            Mason nodded. "A civilian ship, the Sea King. It was owned by one Thomas Powell, one of those paralyzingly stupid rich types with nothing better to do than buy yachts while their managers run their companies. He apparently didn't even realize his boat was missing. The Sea King was vaporized by a fairly conventional weapon, the M-580 bomb. Apparently it was used as a trap to neutralize Reardon.

            "There's more," Mason added, frowning slightly. "Resolute was immobile during the attacks because…because somehow, the water was frozen."

            "Cryogenic rays?" Damia wondered.

            "Probably," Mason allowed. "Whatever it was it suggests another attacker, unless the sphinx was skilled in three elemental attacks. Which isn't at all out of the question."

            "Two major attacks at the same time," X summarized. "What's the connection, guys?"

            "Victims." Archer and Mason both produced pictures of Reploids—one of the tall, dark Revenant, one of the luminescent Haley and another of the scaly war hero Spartan Lionfish. Archer handled the explanation. "Several reputable and powerful Reploids were removed from the playing field. All have offended Mavericks in their day, and all were doing a splendid job of annoying Serpent Chartreuse. Both groups have the motive—the question is, which one has the stones?"

            "My money's on the Mavericks," Erich Zegmann opined.

            "I'm not so sure," Zero responded, looking thoughtful. Given that this was a coffee-less morning, this was noteworthy to his colleagues. "Chartreuse has…well, he's been known to carry grudges against Reploids simply for being powerful. Anyone he sees as a threat he has to eliminate."

            "But would he take this step?" X had to ask. It was, after all, the most crucial question in this scenario.

            Zero chewed his lower lip for a few seconds, thinking deeply before answering. "I think so," he finally said quietly. "Mavericks have never assassinated Hunter leaders. They're not good at it when they try, and for whatever reason they seem to prefer the all-out street warfare to a simple murder of, say, X or myself. Even Sigma never sends snipers or assassins after us—he lures us into places where he or his generals can face us directly." He shook his head definitively. "No. It wasn't the Mavericks. It's just not their style."

            "And Kou Cao is just emerging onto the field," X said, completing the thought running through everyone's mind. "We don't know how he operates yet, and we don't know to what extremes he'll go. Judging from the Seraph Uprising he prefers to set others up to do his bidding while he waits in the shadows, but that was before he had a huge network at his disposal." X looked to Damia, the commander who probably saw the most in the way of intelligence information. "You think he'll use his own organization?"

            It was Damia's turn to chew a lip. "Not exactly," she finally answered. "Oh, hell, X, I don't know. But judging from past experiences, he'll use sub-cells of his main organization to move his power pieces into play. Even if we infiltrate and destroy these sub-cells, we'll only penetrate so far before running out of leads, leaving the core of the Serpent Network unscathed. In the meantime, the power pieces in question—who may or may not be the ones who attacked Revenant and Spartan—will need to be stopped, and it's doubtful that even they will be any help to us if we interrogate them afterwards. The Seraph Castle Mavericks, according to what we know, didn't have any idea that Chartreuse was setting them up as his power players. They would have led us nowhere had they survived long enough to be interrogated."

            "It looks to this Huntress," Luna chimed in, "that the best course of action is to keep an eye on any groups suspected of involvement with the Serpent Network. If any start doing fishy things at the same time…"

            "We go in and clean house." Damia finished. "That's likely what Caligula will suggest to Signas."

            "And I'll take care to do the same," X said, concluding the issue. "Is there anything else before we all go off and play?"

            "Not about the attacks," Damia answered, in the tone of voice that suggested something may or may not be important. "But in regard to increased underworld activity, Intel has noticed very mild increases in radio wave communication in several cities where we know the Serpent has influence—primarily New York, Denver, Beijing and London. Also…" She blinked, clearly reading something on her personal notes for the first time. "It looks like something happened in Warsaw last night."

            "'Something' meaning what?" X asked.

            "An explosion of some sort, in a warehouse." Damia frowned. "Whatever it was it just happened, in their time zone anyway. Caligula will probably send someone to you this afternoon, X."

            "Peachy. Well if that's all—oh, duh. What about Wildcard Azarias? Do we know anything new yet?"

            "Grantham, England." Archer shrugged. "It's all we can pry out of Virgil. From the sound of things, though, Azarias hasn't escaped England yet, and we haven't found any dead bodies of kids lying around. So, things could be worse."

            "Right…okay, that's all she wrote—"

            "Actually X," Zero spoke up, reading over the last page of his memo with a curiously intense expression. "There is something."

            "What?" X asked. It was a very reluctant question, because the last 'page' of Zero's report was a sheet of looseleaf that Luna had passed him, doubtlessly the last link of a chain leading outside to someone cruel and unusual, like Alia.

            "It seems," Zero said, very seriously, "that not only is the reporter Jen Sun in this building but she has with her members of the 'Mega Man X Fanclub'." Zero set the report down and fixed his friend with the gaze of a general about to reassure his president that yes, the rebels were closing in, but no, they would not get to him. "Now X, I can have Unit 0 in action in ten seconds. The way I see it, if Delates and Tyclammel flank the communications office on either side and send Cort in guns blazing, we should be able to neutralize Sun before she gets her recording device out." Zero's perfectly straight face was not mimicked by the other commanders, who found this quite amusing even though they knew they shouldn't. "Unless, of course, she is skilled in lightsaber combat, in which case Delates could—"

            "Zero," X finally cut in, feeling in danger of smirking himself, "Are you instinctively an asshole, or did the asshole genes develop during a turbulent childhood?"

            "I want my coffee," Zero growled.

            "We're done," X said, standing and glancing about the room, as though daring someone else to raise an issue of business. "Is Unit 3 back in yet?"

            "They will be shortly," Mason replied. It was his unit's turn for night duty, and while some—namely the humans—hated this, many of the Reploids couldn't help but feel excited about potential warfare in the darkness. "The 17th is due out next, I believe."

            "That we are," X agreed, even though 'we' was hardly an accurate term. Jasper, X's second in command, did most of the training and the patrolling now, while X was increasingly buried in the more bureaucratic elements of the Hunter forces. He never thought he'd actually want to blast Mavericks to hell just for the sake of doing it, but he was dangerously nearing that point.

            Alia was waiting for him outside the room. "Get my message?" she asked, brimming with insincere ignorance.

            "No, but Zero did," X growled, handing her his briefing data.

            "Well whoda thunk that would happen."

            "I'm not talking to you right now, Judas," X said, starting back towards Unit 17's corner of the building. "You have sold out your lord."

            "You're not my lord, you're my boss, and I didn't sell you out, Jen Sun was just there all of a sudden, like Nexus when she short-warps into the canteen to rip of the pizzas."

            "Aaaannd you just betrayed Nexus to me. You're on a roll!"

            "What if I got rid of her?" Alia asked, finally appearing guilty. "Everyone gets rid of Jen Sun at one point or another. There's gotta be someone with experience in that area around here."

            "Do that," X nodded, rounding a corner and starting down the final hall to his personal office. "I do have serious work to do."

            "Of course."

            "Seriously, Alia, it's serious."

            "I understand."

            "Alia…"

            'Do you see me arguing with you?"

            "No, but I see you not getting rid of Jen Sun for me like the nice Reploid I'm sure you must be deep down inside."

            "Right, right." She blinked. "Hey, you never told me you had a fan club—"

            "Alia!"

            "Serious work, yeah, yeah, I gotcha. Oh, Caligula's in your office," she added, almost as an afterthought.

            X's spine froze. "…What? Why didn't you—"

            "You seemed so into your seriousness talk that I didn't want to interr—"

            "Go…go do something useful, will you?"

            "Okay." She left, and X composed himself before entering his office. He knew what the Intelligence Chief wanted to talk about, and X hated debates with Caligula, because Caligula was good at winning them. This kind of debate was the kind X hated to lose, because it reflected many of his core beliefs. Truth be told, the fact that he had never won one of these debates was making him wonder a little about his core beliefs.

            "Let me guess," Caligula said, even before X was fully in the room. "'Increased preemptive surveillance is a flat out betrayal of those Reploids who have avoided Sigma's promises in the hopes that the rest of the world would come to its senses.' Was that what you told him?"

            "Something like that," X muttered. It was, in fact, verbatim what he'd told Signas. "Good to see you too, by the way."

            "Charmed. A flat out betrayal, X? A flat out betrayal is termination, not surveillance."

            "One will follow the other fairly closely," X retorted, sitting at his desk. It was no different than any commander's desk. Caligula probably had a nicer one himself, being a chief. It was primarily because he thought too much that X lost debates. "Look," he resumed, trying to articulate his opinion in the same manner as he'd done with Signas, "I just don't think that things are bad enough that we need to—"

            "X, you don't do things like this when things are bad," Caligula interrupted. "You do them beforehand, so the bad shit doesn't have a chance to happen."

            "You can't at all guarantee that your security plan will improve Maverick detection in the least," X said forcefully. He did not take well to patronization.

            "And you can't guarantee that it won't." The intelligence chief leaned back in his chair, frowning at the most famous figure in his organization. "What in that proposal was so abominable that you had to crush the whole thing?"

            "I didn't 'crush' anything. I just gave my opinion."

            "You know damn well how powerful that opinion is, X. Signas relies on you and he relies on Zero, more so than anyone else in this place."

            "All the better for my position, then," X smiled slightly, reclining a little.

            Caligula blinked, a bit taken aback. "Hmph. Well, fine. You prefer to trust the good in people. I prefer to preempt the bad. Both views have their pluses, and both have also had equally disastrous results in the past. But dammit, we're Maverick Hunters. How are we supposed to hunt the Mavericks if we don't know who and where the Mavericks are?"

            "Doesn't seem to me like we had much trouble in that area before."

            "Naw, none at all, unless you ignore the perpetrators of four major wars and a nuclear attack."

            "All of whom were eventually neutralized."

            "All of whom could have been neutralized before they killed hundreds of thousands of innocent people."

            "Jeez, I know, that 'innocent until proven guilty' thing is a real pain, isn't it?"

            "X—"

            "Look," the Azure Hunter cut in. "Unprovoked restrictions from on high are one of the major reasons Reploids went Maverick in the first place. How exactly are we supposed to end Maverick activity if we encourage the replacement of old Mavericks with new ones?"

            "By providing them with a better standard of living. But that's not our job, is it?" Caligula was silent for a second. "Besides, you know who the enemy is now. We're dealing with people who are officially non-Mavericks, and who have no intention of ever joining the Maverick ranks, but they want to kill us just the same."

            "So you want to give Hunters the power to arrest any old civilian they want to?"

            "Yes." Caligula's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you honestly believe that our people will arrest civilians for the hell of it, X. If someone is picked up, then it's for a reason."

            "We're not the police, Caligula."

            "No, we're not. Chartreuse already owns the police. And, like I said, he wants us dead no matter what we consider ourselves. The government says they can handle things, but the government is full of shit and you know it. We have to defend ourselves. We can't wait for others to do it for us."

            X held his breath. "Even if this requires attacks on humans?"

            This made the intelligence officer actually laugh, and X wasn't sure if he should be chilled or not. "X, if someone is trying to kill me, I'm going to take him out whether he be human, Reploid or just a stray dog. When lives are involved, I don't like ideology interfering with practicality."

            X blinked. "Do you think I'm an ideologue, Caligula?"

            "I think you hold too tightly to certain ideals, yes. And they interfere with your practicality. Why do you think so many Mavericks have called you naïve?"

            X lowered his eyes in silent contemplation for a few seconds before answering, very calmly. "Well. I realize not everyone is as optimistic as I am about certain things. Pacifism, for example. You think pacifism is stupid?"

            "Stupid?" He frowned slightly. "No. Not stupid. Misguided, perhaps."

            "Impractical."

            "Yes. Impractical. War is a fact of life—it has always been there and always will be there."

            "I think so, too." X crossed his arms over his chest. "But you know what? When Reploids called out for rights, the humans said no. They said it wasn't practical to initiate a race of machines into a global social structure. When Sigma went apeshit, we decided the 'practical' thing to do was create a group to erase his group. Both groups still exist, by the way."

            Caligula didn't take well to patronization either. "You would rather we had allowed Sigma to commit genocide?"

            "No. But after breaking his power I, if I'd been a world leader, would have focused on the problems that drove so many Reploids into Sigma's arms in the first place and rectified them. But this required ideology—a belief that Reploids could be trusted. It was much more practical for the world to blame Reploids as a whole and appease human bigots."

            "But now you're blaming humans as a whole."

            "All humans are bigots," X said, very casually. "As are all Reploids, whether we admit it or not."

            "So what's your point?"

            "My point?" X spread his arms out. "How is this day any different than the same day ten years ago? Caligula, have we made any progress to speak of? Any whatsoever? Send me a memo if you find some, because I sure as hell don't see it. When Sigma decided to betray the Hunters, time froze. It hasn't started up again, even after a decade." His arms fell nervelessly onto his desk. "I'm sick of being practical. So no, I don't support giving the Hunters the power to wreck the future, no matter how beneficial it may be in the present."

            The intelligence chief drew a slow breath, absorbing this. "That's quite a risk you're prepared to have us all take."

            "It's a risk no one else I know has dared to suggest. I'm sick of taking the path most traveled solely because it's the one most traveled. Prove to me that we can increase surveillance and add to Hunter power without oppressing the populace and I'll recommend it to Signas, but until then…"

            Caligula absorbed this as well. Then he nodded, standing to take his leave. "Your opinion, as usual, is very thought-provoking."

            "Am I the only one who doesn't agree with you?" X dared to ask.

            The chief smiled thinly. "The only one who admits it, yes."

            Caligula started for the door. X stopped him with quiet words that he seemed to say without his own consent. "By the way…those Mavericks who called me naïve?" He paused for emphasis. "They're dead now."

            Caligula blinked. "I…didn't mean to imply—"

            "I know. Go away, I've got serious work to do."

            The intelligence chief left unoffended, knowing full well what X meant by 'serious' work. X himself put his head down on his desk, exhaling slowly. The part he hated most about dueling with Caligula was that the bastard always got him thinking. The part about the 'risk he was asking them all to take' kept ringing in his mind. What right did X have to force the rest of the Hunters to live with less protective power because he had a problem with it?

            He didn't know. What surprised him more was that he didn't care…not as much as he would have in the past, anyway. 

Have I really changed that much?

__________

            "Hoo-aka!"

            The small, white bird hopped across the sand like it was riding a pogo stick, bravely separating itself from the cluster of other birds who were alternating between watching the tall, lazily dressed Hunter and poking the eyes out of a rather large fish carcass. The so-called seagull had black-tipped wings and sported a red beak. It looked directly up at the Hunter, tilting its head in mild bird-interest. "Hoo-aka!" it said again, turning away before its new friend could answer.

            It was the red beak that threw Delates. Seagulls didn't have red beaks. Few birds at all had red beaks, he thought. It had to have something to do with chemicals, he'd decided. Somehow chemicals had mutated a certain seagull into a new species of bird that emitted a duckish quack sounding very much like "Hoo-aka". Delates had originally dissolved into laughter whenever the birds spoke, but now he'd become desensitized enough that he merely grinned mightily at the sound.

            He didn't come down here every morning specifically to listen to seagull mutants quack like retarded ducks, though that was a powerful selling point. He came here because he had nothing better to do before morning training began. The problem with sleeping in the same bed as a Hunter Commander was that the commander had to get up earlier than other Hunters. Years of curious circumstances had caused him to synchronize his sleeping with the movements of the Huntress nestled in his arms—when Damia stirred, Delates stirred with her.

            Damia, however, had something to do for the hour, whereas Delates just had free time while no one else was awake. So he'd found the beach and the birds, and here he stood practically every morning, rain or shine, and just watched the ocean. He found it quite conducive to simple meditation—Hawkins had his running, Delates had his beach and his hoo-akas.

            Now the said birds were making him laugh again. A fight had broken out around the dead fish, and the strange quacking had risen to new levels. "Hoo-aka!" The bird who'd investigated Delates turned and bounced back to the fish with renewed interest. "Wak!" another bird yelped, greeting the new arrival with a harsh half-quack and spread wings. "Hoo-AAA!" the offended bird retorted with such nasal indignation that Delates's shoulders began to shake.

            "There's something wrong with your brain," a woman's voice said matter-of-factly from behind him.

            "Oh, come on!" Delates grinned, turning to drape an arm around the new arrival. This was easy, since she was a head shorter than he was. "You can't tell me it's not hilarious," he insisted, his speech broken by laughter as the birds hopped angrily at each other.

            "I'm surprised you haven't brought one home," Damia observed, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning against him, her blue eyes focused on the ocean before them. Roy, her silver monkey, was perched conspicuously on her left shoulder, intently playing with locks of her silky brown hair. The golden-furred Sigfried was again AWOL.

            "I wouldn't sleep," he responded truthfully, smiling down at her. It was amazing, he thought, this change that came over her whenever the ocean was in view. As interesting as Delates found the sea to stare at in the morning, he often got the impression Damia would like nothing more than to grow gills and slip underwater forever. Seeing as she had no aquatic capabilities, her interest in the sea was perplexing. But, Delates remembered, innate restrictions had never stopped this Huntress before.

            "I can't decide if the sea looks calm or not," she finally said, sounding unnerved.

            "It's anticipating tomorrow's eclipse," Delates quipped sagely. "It watched Mustafa's special report!"

            Damia groaned and shook her head. A Reploid named Mustafa was the System's premier weatherman, and he was a little…excitable. For the last four days all anyone had been hearing was 'PREPARE FOR THE FLOODS! THE LUNAR ECLIPSE WILL HAVE UNTOLD EFFECTS ON THE SEAS!' Damia had never really seen an eclipse before. Despite Mustafa's doomsaying, she intended to get a good look at this one.

            Wordlessly the two of them mutually decided to spend their remaining free time here together, and they walked a few steps to the "Throne". The Throne was another marvel of nature—two slabs of stone, one horizontal and one vertical—that resembled some ancient king's dais of power. Much like the Wormswood Pillars, those who saw the Throne couldn't help but stop and remark on its oddities.

            Damia winced as Roy began yanking too hard on her hair. She brushed him off her shoulder and he scampered off, chittering noisily, heading in the direction of the dead fish and the squabbling birds.

            "You own two monkeys, and you yell at me about birds," Delates chuckled, resting against the vertical stone in a seated position. Damia curled up next to him, the two of them staring back out at the waves.

            "The monkeys have their uses," Damia protested. One of the birds hopped up to Roy, eyeing him with the utmost interest. The chittering monkey did the same. "Hoo-aka!" the bird finally said disapprovingly, following up with a menacing bird-hiss. Roy threw sand in its eyes. "Wak!" the bird squawked frantically, running around as though headless. "Wak! Wak!"

            A peal of rich laughter escaped Damia's lips. "Okay, that was funny."

            "You have a talk with Roy," Delates said sternly. "I don't want him harassing my birds." They were quiet for a good minute, simply enjoying each other's company and the sound of the waves in the background. Then Delates summoned up the courage to say what he'd been meaning to say for the last twenty-four hours. "They followed up that lead from Bangor."

            "Which one…?"

            "The one leading to Azarias's pal in Vietnam." He paused, feeling awkward even though he knew she already knew what he was going to tell her. "The jungle is clean."

            Damia nodded slowly. "I got the report through Aegis."

            He looked down at her again. "You're okay…?"

            "Why wouldn't I be?" But he didn't fail to miss the way her body bristled slightly as she spoke the words.

            He hated these conversations, hated not knowing when she was okay and when she wasn't okay. But it was his job to press her, in Dr. Trask's opinion. He had to get her to talk about these things instead of letting them fester inside her. "I'm just asking, is all…"

            She exhaled a slow breath, tilting her head to meet his gaze. "I know…I know."

            "There were a lot of bad memories there."

            Damia smiled, somewhat weakly, and nodded. "But like you said…the jungle is clear. Vinh Kan base is gone…we made sure of that. It wasn't going to be another UNDINE," she said, referring to the coding station the Seraph Castle Mavericks had used to crack Hunter security firewalls. "At any rate," she added quietly, "what happened at Vinh Kan seems kinda like small potatoes now, huh?"

            Delates unconsciously tightened his embrace, once more experiencing the strange blend of emotions that always surfaced when they discussed this topic. "Yeah…I guess it does."

            No Hunter was a stranger to pain. Virtually all of them had been wounded in either training or in action, and more had been tortured than anyone cared to admit. The thing was, most of these "tortures" were brief incidents where Mavericks used what leverage they could to extract some little piece of information before the other Hunters showed up to ruin their fun. Most of these unpleasant experiences logically befell those Hunters who frequently worked alone, meaning Units 0, 8 and Aegis. Delates himself had endured the wrath of a rather large Maverick who'd snapped both his legs before Cort had executed the bastard with a shot in either eye. He'd been in a world of pain while Cort dragged him back to the HQ, but had gotten over the incident quickly enough and was doing his job efficiently again within two weeks.

            Every once in a while, though, the torture was a little more severe—the kind of torture that left scars. Damia had experienced such torture twice, though she was hardly the only one. X and Zero, Delates knew, were no strangers to awesome pain, and neither were Castle and Acrystos, two of Damia's guerillas who doubled as Aegis operatives. In every case the victims had to have someone to turn to, to help them get back on their feet. Delates had been Damia's choice both times, though for slightly different reasons.

            She seemed to be reading his mind. "Besides," she said, leaning up to kiss him. "I can think of at least one good memory from Vinh Kan."

            Even as he smiled back and returned the kiss, the usual surge of protectiveness shot through his body. "There won't be any more Vinh Kans, Damia. Not so long as I'm around."

            Something about the way he said it sent a little chill down her spine. "Don't say that, Delates…fate has a way of twisting promises like that…"

            Then, any somberness that had developed evaporated in a flash as Roy, screeching wildly, scampered away from about twenty angry seagull mutants, a storm of hoo-akas invading their eardrums and causing both Hunters to burst out with laughter.

            "What are they?" Damia wondered aloud, holding out her hand towards Roy. The outnumbered monkey raced up her arm and tried to hide himself in her hair, while a row of birds formed near the two Reploids, hoo-akaing their disapproval.

            "They're a menace," Delates answered, and the both of them got to their feet. "Let's get out of here before they break out their firearms."

            "Ugh," was all his paramour would say, starting back with him. Roy clung to her neck, chittering unpleasant monkey-condemnations back at the birds. "You stupid little furball," Damia said with a laugh, breaking her pet's hold on her throat and cradling it like an infant. "When are you going to learn?" Roy merely popped a thumb in his mouth and enjoyed his temporary refuge from the feathered menace.

            "Hoo-aka!" the birds squawked in triumph as the intruders left their beach. "Hooooo-aka!"

***

            The sun climbed high in the sky, and some paused to reflect that this time tomorrow that same sun would be blocked out by a cosmic shadow. The solar body, Apollo's golden chariot, lorded over the earth for its customary period and began to retreat towards the western horizon, spilling a reddish-gold hue onto the world below it.

            It had been a good day, so far as Alec Tremont was concerned. He'd even gotten to take Raven 13 for a spin, something that happened less frequently since he'd received his command post. It was easy for Alec to understand why his predecessor had disliked this rank, since it meant less time up in the air. Alec couldn't even begin to describe how free he felt up there, how life was just so much more livable.

            Then he came down to his hellhole and remembered how much he hated people.

            Not all people, he corrected himself as he stepped out of the jeep from Sakimoto Airfield. Just the stupid ones. And the stupidest of the stupid, he decided as he stepped into the Hunter Headquarters once more, were the fools who despised others based on issues of race. And not just because they caused serious problems, like wars, but also because they made Alec conduct investigations like this when he'd rather be playing ping-pong in the rec room.

            To get to the Research and Development labs Alec had to pass through the small secondary auditorium the Hunters used primarily to talk to the smallish gaggle of reporters who turned up most mornings to see if there was a good story in the works. The Hunters were a big seller in most papers, and everyone wanted a piece. No matter who got hurt, Alec thought with a derisive snort. While he knew deep down that freedom of information was fairly indispensable to freedom itself, it still pissed him off sometimes. In any case, the reporters almost never stuck around this long unless something major was happening, which there wasn't, and Alec was rightly surprised when a booming voice reverberated in his eardrums.    

"Mr. Tremont!"

            The voice was as big as its owner, a burly, muscular man who despite his imposing frame conveyed a cultured, urbane manner. There was also a disarming friendliness about him, a charisma that made it hard to say no to him. For a reporter, this was an impeccably useful talent.

            "What can I do for you, Mr. Duke?" Alec asked, smiling guardedly at the advancing reporter, wondering what he was still doing here. If he knew Roland Duke—and everyone knew Roland Duke—the reporter had gotten wind of controversy. Duke was phenomenal at detecting controversy. As such Alec hated talking to him, because invariably he found himself liking Duke, and this didn't befit one who distrusted reporters.

             "Nothing much, sir, nothing much," Duke said genially, shaking the pilot's hand vigorously. "Hey, is it true Jen Sun was hanging around here this morning about that anti-drug thing?"

            "You didn't wait around here to ask me about Jen Sun, Roland."

            "Still…she does realize X is a robot, right?"

            Alec laughed. Immediately he was mad at himself for it, but he laughed all the same. "I don't know what goes through her mind, nor do I feel your readers care. Why don't you just ask what you want to ask?"

            "Actually I'm gonna keep us off the record," Duke responded casually. "Scuttlebutt is, there's something going on in Warsaw."

            Alec blinked. "The guy didn't cover that this morning?"

            "CNN covered it, along with every other global news network," Duke responded easily. "They don't know who was responsible."

            "Do you?"

            "Well, I think I know who was using the warehouse. Doesn't take much of a leap of the imagination to guess that a building gone to hell in the Union was probably a den for old Kou Cao, eh?"

            Alec raised an eyebrow, somewhat amused. "Please tell me you don't think we—"

            "Oh, no!" Duke's laugh boomed throughout the corridor. "You Hunters have spread your wings, but you're not about to go bombing buildings with unconscious humans inside."

            At this the pilot frowned, asking a question despite his reservations. "Do you know how many were killed?"

            "Oh…" Duke shrugged. "Most were positioned a safe distance away from the charges that brought the place down. They did find three dead Maverick Hunters on the scene, though."

            "That's news to me," Alec said truthfully. He didn't watch the news as often as he knew he probably should. "Still, if we were going for retribution we'd have arrested the culprits publicly…we wouldn't burn their house down and leave them to suffocate."

            "Undoubtedly," Duke agreed. When he schmoozed, it really sounded genuine. Alec couldn't help but wonder if it sometimes was. "The question is, if not you…then who?"

            This prompted another laugh from the pilot. "You mean, do I know of some anti-Serpent splinter cell? I'll tell ya, I sure wish I did." He laughed again, shaking his head. "You're talking to the wrong person, Roland. I fly planes. I'm not a detective."

            "You fly planes," Duke agreed again. "Which means you and Caligula have a lot of coordinating to do. You're a link to the Intel chief, too—he's the one we want."

            Alec was suddenly rather uncomfortable, both because Duke was saying strange things and because the strange things were true and he hadn't fully realized it until now. "Why are you telling me this?"

            Duke shrugged his broad shoulders. "You should fill in for Ryoko. You're pretty good at handling reporters."

            The pilot frowned, suddenly suspicious. "The trick is not telling you people anything important."

            "That's exactly right," Duke agreed, quite candidly. "The public just wants something to amuse them for ten seconds. Ryoko gave us too much actual information, information that the public shouldn't have had yet, and her replacement is just as bad. Whoever replaces him, just make sure they don't make those mistakes." The reporter smiled, as though switching modes from serious to cordial. "That's all I wanted to say." He glanced at his watch and clapped Alec on the shoulder. "I'll catch you around, Mr. Tremont. Deadlines are a'callin'."

            Alec spent the next two seconds wondering fiercely what in the world the reporter was up to. Did he really think Alec would do a decent job handling the press, or did he think Alec would be easier to get information out of? It really was hard to tell.

            But he had more important things to worry about. The pilot continued on his way into the R&D garage, where rows of ride armors, ride chasers and scores of other transportation and battle equipment were stored, ready for action at a moment's notice. Currently slaving over one big Chimera ride armor were two Reploid technicians, one of whom seemed to have just been electrocuted.

            "Dammit!" the technician raged, his normally smooth white hair now shooting out in all directions.

            "You said use the plug on the right," his counterpart, a tall red-haired technician, replied indignantly.

            "My right," the one in white retorted. "When I said my right, I was referring to me. As far as I'm aware there is only one me so what happened?"

            "Problems, boys?" Alec interrupted breezily, drifting past them.

            "Nothing serious," they both replied, each sighing, like this was the eightieth time this had happened today, which wasn't wholly unlikely.

            "Sefus and Jarkeld oughta write a book," piped up a short green Reploid to Alec's right, "a book on how not to succeed in the mechanics business."

            "Way to motivate, Douggie," Alec clapped the R&D chief on the back. Douglas was hovering over a table on which diagrams of various weapons were spread out. "Busy day?"

            "Anything but. You finish your patrol?"

            Alec nodded. "We scoured the mean skies of Tokyo and found…zilch! The same as every day."

            Douglas chuckled. "It's aggravating, but we do what we have to. And, er, speaking of that, let's take a walk."

            Alec nodded and followed the mechanic back to his office, where Douglas closed the door behind him. "You're sure I was the only one qualified for this?" the pilot asked, determined to be annoyed.

            Douglas shrugged. "You spent the last two years flying reconnaissance. It's your job to notice things." An eyebrow rose. "Did you notice anything this time?"

            "No," Alec replied. "And I don't really expect to. This base is reasonably well grounded. It's only the best of the best. There's no room for racism here."

            At this the mechanic chuckled. "We'd all like to think that, but…we all know what's going to happen in a few months. Control of the world may soon fall into the hands of anti-Reploid extremists. If and when that happens, humans and Reploids—even the ones here—will begin to feel uncomfortable around each other." The chief's eyes narrowed. "If you see anything, Alec…the smallest scowl, a condescending glance…anything at all, let me know. A racial issue is not something we need right now."

            "I know. I'll keep you in touch."

            "Thank you."

            Alec turned to leave, anxious to end this conversation. But something stopped him long enough to turn back and ask what may or may not be an unnecessary question. "Hey, Douglas…has Roland Duke been sniffing around lately? More than usual, I mean?"

            At this the mechanic paused thoughtfully. "He has been hanging around later than usual, hasn't he?"

            "He's still here now. He stopped me on my way in here."

            "Did he now…" Douglas blinked, then frowned. "Well, he may have gotten wind that the reports are back on Moscow and Ireland, but…I don't know, it doesn't seem like there's much of a story there. The public has already lost interest." He shrugged. "Why, did he ask you something?"

            "Nothing important," Alec shook his head. "I was just asking, is all."

            "Mm. Well, a good evening to you, Commander Tremont. Fly safely."

            "Keep your boys out of trouble," Alec said, motioning to Sefus and Jarkeld, just as Sefus got a jolt of his own that shot his red hair out in an imitation of Jarkeld's. "My left!" he was yelling. "I said my left! Didn't we just have this argument?"

            "Must've slipped my mind," Jarkeld replied, far too innocently.

__________

            Unit 8 did not go on patrol. They were simply too small a team to effectively cover any distance, and besides, they had more to do in the area of preparation and intelligence gathering than any of the other units. A typical day for the guerillas featured a morning briefing from Damia—Unit 8 was let in on high security issues, since they would likely be the first ones on scene if anything happened—followed by scenario training, which usually involved situations such as hostage crises, bomb diffusion or other high stress incidents that the guerillas were responsible for stopping. They were more or less on their own for most of the afternoon, though they all spent their time either helping Caligula or warping across the globe to help investigate certain happenings.

            The unit met once more in the evening to summarize world events, and this daily meeting was now in session. Commander Damia lounged very unprofessionally on a sprawling beanbag chair, her fingers leafing through the security report that all six of her underlings held in their own paws. "You told him about this?" she asked, her eyes riveted on the highlighted sections of the report.

            "Hard not to," Castle replied from the small couch he shared with Acrystos. "We noticed it together. Kevin pondered it and took it to Caligula. The boss wasn't overly worried, but he's having some people look into it."

            "And did our dear Kevin react noticeably when Warsaw turned up on this list?" Damia lowered the paper just enough to level an eye in Castle's direction. They referred to Kevin Seitz, Caligula's chief assistant.

            Castle shrugged. "He never reacts much, does he?"

            "I don't see why he would," Acrystos put in, scanning her own report. "That warehouse exploded in Warsaw this morning. It makes sense that there would be increased message traffic there."

            "Agreed," Dantz's deep voice rumbled from across the room. His large frame occupied the entirety of an armchair, though he left one arm of the chair free for Nexus to use as her perch. The slim Huntress leaned back casually against her larger acquaintance, and glancing at the scene Damia again couldn't help but wonder if there was anything going on between those two.

            Dantz flipped to the back page of his report and continued. "It's the snippets they intercepted in Megacity 5 that worry me. These messages deal with the Hunter base there."

            "But they all refer in some ways to Hunters and Hunter bases," Deluge objected. He sat cross-legged on the floor directly across from Damia. Behind him Brant Everett, the squad medic, had stretched his lanky form out on the second couch in the room. It wasn't that Everett was hogging the couch—Deluge, for whatever strange reason, preferred the floor.

            "Yes," Dantz agreed, "but Megacity 5 just suffered a major ecoterrorist attack. Logically, if Mavericks or the Gold Serpent were involved, their message traffic should be focused on the Ellis Island attack and in rescuing their agent. That was, in fact, what Zion was hoping for when he tracked these messages—a link to Alutriel, the Maverick they suspect in the bombing."

            "So," Damia summarized, "the fact that Chartreuse is so focused on the Hunter base itself rather than the Hunters as a whole doesn't make sense."

            "Correct." Dantz pointed to a few other examples. "And it doesn't end there. Message traffic from Megacity 5 also refers to specific Hunter units and, in some cases, specific locations. Take Yates Park for example. Why were these presumed operatives talking about Yates Park in the same conversations that they mentioned specific Hunter units?"

            "The pattern repeats itself," Nexus noticed. "Look at the reports from Denver and Beijing. London, too."

            "But these could just be normal, everyday conversations," Deluge protested. "I bet you'll find similar message patterns in every city occupied by Kou Cao."

            "The problem is," Damia shook her head, "these cities had the most such message traffic. Clearly it made Caligula nervous enough to put it in the report, and like Dantz said, naming specific Hunter units and specific places doesn't seem like what Kou Cao should be doing in Megacity 5. I'd be trying to beat the Hunters in finding Alutriel, if she's even still alive."

            "I hope she is," Everett grunted. "Bitch contaminates an entire Megacity's drinking water…she oughta get the full brunt of the law."

            "Well what the hell was the Army doing storing chemicals in an underwater plant anyway?" Acrystos scoffed.

            "Conclusion: the Megacity Army is stupid. Moving on," Damia deadpanned, breaking them out of their usual routine of criticizing their fellow law enforcers. "Some of the Warsaw traffic is interesting, too. You can tell this was a Serpent base. According to some of these snippets, Chartreuse himself expressed displeasure with this one."

            "Poor him," Castle grumbled.

            "Think he's pissed enough to retaliate?" Everett thought suddenly. "You know, say, striking at New York, Denver, Beijing and London?"

            "It doesn't make sense," Dantz frowned. "I mean, I think something is up, but I can't imagine why he'd attack those cities. It just seems so…random. There's no real connection between them. Even if you throw in…" He blinked. "Hey, what's going on in Tokyo?"

            "There's nothing in here," Damia frowned, scanning the report once more. "Though you know we have more message traffic regarding Kou Cao than any of these other cities, just because our headquarters is here. I don't think we'd notice a difference anyway."

            But the mood was slightly darker. "I dunno," Everett sighed. "I just have a bad feeling all of a sudden."

            "How many times have we had bad feelings before?" Deluge tried to snap them out of their stupor. "We always read too much into these reports. We work ourselves up for something that never comes even remotely close to happening. Besides, all we have to do is fire off a warning to those cities, and they'll fire up their security measures. Hunters aren't as good as we are all around the world, but they're still fairly powerful."

            "I'll recommend as much to Cal," Damia nodded. But she was still frowning. "I just…I don't know. All this talk about assassinating Hunters…the incidents in Moscow and Ireland…and now we've got talk of specific units and specific places?"

            "We've had talk about specific units and specific places since the Seraph Castle attacks," Acrystos pointed out. "There's nothing to indicate that these threats are any more credible than all the other ones. All we can do is tell the commanders in the suspect cities to watch their backs."

            Damia nodded. Then she got lazily to her feet and stretched. "I'll talk to Caligula. The rest of you go be miscreants."

            "But don't go to any, you know, specific places," Castle added severely.

            "Especially not with any specific units," Damia matched his tone, turning to leave. It was probably nothing. She knew from experience that they were, as Deluge had suggested, probably making too big a deal out of nothing.

            For whatever reason her morning conversation with Delates came to mind. His promise that nothing would hurt her so long as he was still alive, and her response… "Fate has a way of twisting promises like that…"

            But no, she thought, she was making too big a deal out of nothing, like Deluge had said. The thought of someone attacking them on their home turf was so wild as to be out of the question.

            But then why, she wondered, do I still feel so god damned nervous?

***

"When?"

            "Give it time. We'll do it tonight."

            "Cover of darkness?"

            "Precisely. What did you learn?"

            "As paranoid as these fellas are, they sure don't worry too much about their routines."

            "You noticed that, too?"

            "Yeah. So I gather we know the location…?"

            "Find me. We'll finalize things. Be careful—the reconnaissance flights will begin soon. We can't be seen around the premises."

            "Come on, Carlos, you think I'm gonna let one of those spot me?"

            "No one 'lets' the enemy win. We're taking every precaution. This will be a dangerous one, Victor. No screw ups."

            "Right, right…hey, have you heard those birds? The ones near the target?"

            "What are you taking about?"

            "The birds, they're like…hoo-aka!"

            "…I'm not getting paid enough for this shit."

***

**Downtown Tokyo**

            "It's just not the same!"

            "Rykov, you say that every damn time, but it's not gonna change anything!"

            "But dammit Krysta, you…you don't understand. Vulcan, come on, you know it's true."

            "Tokyo has its fair share of pizza places, Rykov. I don't see what the big deal—"

            "Judas!" Rykov hissed, recoiling from his silver friend. "How dare you compare Tokyo pizza to New York pizza!"

            "Chicago pizza beats 'em all," Krysta chimed in, herself a native of the Windy City. "But I don't see why you have to be so gourmet about it. It's just pizza!"

            "Women!" Rykov scoffed. "No appreciation for the finer points of life."

            "Excuse me?" Krysta laughed richly, her crystalline armor catching the final rays of the setting sun. "You remember when I took you to that art museum? You almost blew half the stuff up!"

            "So did I," Vulcan admitted sheepishly.

            "And you say I have no appreciation for the finer points," Krysta finished decisively.

            "Oh God," Rykov groaned, rolling his head back. "God, God, God NO! I know you did not just use art as a way to convey 'finer points'."

            Krysta furrowed her light brown eyebrows. "And what, praytell, is wrong with art?"

            "Some of it's fine," Vulcan attempted to compromise. "It's just that a lot of the modern stuff is—"

            "Horseshit."

            "Yeah," Vulcan nodded gingerly. "I had intended to say it more…'artistically', but there you go."

            "Oh really. And I suppose you gentlemen can do better?"

            "Damn right I can," Rykov declared. "I can at least spill paint onto a wall. I don't take some chair out of a junk heap, label it 'Chair' and make up some hokey excuse as to why it's art."

            "'The chair is not just an outdated piece of furniture,'" Vulcan paraphrased, "'but rather is a caricature, or even an imprint, of its former owner.'"

            "And you know how much money that bullshitter got for 'Chair'?" Rykov growled. "He's an artist all right—a con artist!"

            "Yeah," Krysta agreed, with as patronizing a smile as she could muster. "He's really rolling in the dough. If I were you two I'd feel dumb for not thinking of it first. But then look at all those who aren't con artists. Like Brancusi—"

            "The penguin guy?!" Here Vulcan just couldn't keep quiet. "No, he wasn't a con artist, he was just lazy. He had two thumbs, Krysta, thumbs, they were white rounded rectangles with smaller rectangles at the tops, like thumbnails, and he called them two penguins."

            "It's designed to be simplistic," Krysta retorted defensively. "It's for those of us who can, you know, see the finer points."

            Rykov glowered. "Krysta, you're fired. Go home. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars."

            "I will go home and I will collect 200 dollars."

            "Playing cards again?" Rykov shook his head as a Simpsons quote came to mind. "'She has been taken over by an evil gambling monster. I call him…Gamblor!'"

            "Hey, when you're good, you're good!" Krysta grinned. "Some of the Greaseballs think they can beat us, so Xu and I are gonna hafta show 'em the ropes."

            "Who are the victims tonight?" Vulcan asked.

            "Couple'a techies. Sefus and Jarkeld. Know 'em?"

            "I've seen Jarkeld around," Vulcan replied, with amazing calm. Inside, however, he was hit by a feeling of profound nervousness. This, right here, is horseshit, he thought. Even more so than modern art. What the hell is wrong with me?

            "What about you two lugs?" she asked, stretching her arms out luxuriously behind her head.

            Vulcan and Rykov were, in fact, planning on continuing a training scenario that a friend of theirs had designed for fun, but they didn't get a chance to answer the question before a small explosion erupted behind them.

            Instantly the trio spun around, their hands drifting to their respective weapons. A store behind them had just gone kaboom, and there were some shouts coming from inside. Vulcan's beam saber came to life and he shot towards the building, Krysta close behind with her axe resting against her shoulder. Rykov converted his arm into a menacing cannon and lagged behind. He was somewhat inhibited in civilian settings, and planned to just cover his friends rather than racing in with guns blazing and endangering bystanders.

            Just before the Hunters arrived on scene, a Reploid in green and white dashed out of the store's shattered window, racing away with what looked like a thick black suitcase. A robbery. Shouts still continued from within the burning store; wordlessly Rykov smashed in what remained of the door and began to rescue the occupants. The speedier members of the posse then gave chase.

            There was an element of excitement to this, even if it was just a robbery. Patrols in Tokyo were really just formalities. No one expected Kou Cao or the Mavericks to do a whole lot in the Hunter heartland, since legions of the best Hunters were only blocks away. However, this was the exact same mindset that Sigma had manipulated two years ago when he built Seraph Castle practically right next door to Hunter HQ, previously located in Megacity 5, New York. Thus these patrols had to happen, however unlikely it was that a major battle would take place, and now that something was happening Vulcan and Krysta were dying to have a part in it.

            The enemy raced towards an intersection that led into a grassy courtyard bordered by buildings on three sides. Cars screeched to halts as the criminal and his two pursuers flew carelessly through the intersection. During this momentary confusion the green criminal jumped forward, twisted in the air and brought a pistol up to bear at Vulcan. His shot missed, but the action was critical—he'd just fired on a Hunter after potentially attacking humans. The gloves had just come off.

            But it was still preferable to catch the criminal rather than kill him. Vulcan sheathed his lightsaber and converted his left hand into a fairly standard-issue arm cannon, setting it to stun. The criminal touched down and took something out of his pocket. Vulcan and Krysta pursued him into the grassy town square area, where he thrust the object down at his feet.

            Pocket Napalm, Vulcan realized instantly. It was like a wall of fire flying at him, and it was all he could do to throw himself out of the way. Krysta gave a little cry, and after looking at her Vulcan angrily realized that she'd been slightly singed. He shot to his feet, firing two shots at the retreating green form, but he danced easily out of the way. Another Pocket Napalm—oh yes, the manufacturer had assured the Megacity Army, it would never get out of the Army ranks and into the wrong hands, never!—came flying Vulcan's way, but he dodged it again, landing hard on his left side. Unable to bring his cannon up to bear, he rolled over—a wise choice. Two lasers struck the ground where he'd been, but then the crook paused to realign his gun. Vulcan blinked, trying to see through the flames. He couldn't see Krysta. The roar of the napalm had temporarily deafened him—had she been shot? Anger welled within him again and he jumped to his feet.

            Then he stopped, still as a statue, completely and utterly paralyzed.

            It wasn't something he ever expected to be able to explain to someone who hadn't been there. It just wasn't something most people could understand. He might be able to relate it to them…picture something bad that happened to you, he might say, and look around. Does anything remind you of that bad thing? Does it look like the exact same place?

            Because this place, this courtyard with the old buildings around it and the fires burning bright and the roar of nearby traffic sounding like the whoosh of jets, this place wasn't a Tokyo courtyard. It was a war-torn circle of land in New York, and his enemy wasn't a simple crook, it was a dethroned tanker, and somewhere, somewhere among these flames, there was a body…the body of a friend…

            But the crook, whose underworld handle was simply 'Wrench', didn't see what Vulcan saw. He saw an inexplicably incapacitated Maverick Hunter, and he leveled his gun directly at him with a smile. He might get out of this after all.

            A yell from his right suddenly attracted his attention. Wrench glanced towards the sound and, correctly figuring Vulcan to be out of commission, swung his leg out hard at the advancing Krysta. For some reason she did not expect this. The Huntress staggered clumsily backward, and a second kick to her solar plexus had her laying flat on her back. "Double teamin' me, eh?" Wrench grinned. "Doesn't matter how unfair you make it, lassie. I still win."

            The moment was wearing off. Vulcan blinked slowly, pulling himself together and rushing hard at Wrench, bringing his cannon high. But it was too late, he saw—Wrench was already aiming his gun, and Krysta wasn't able to defend herself…

            The air behind Wrench shifted ever so slightly, but the robber recognized it easily enough. "What's this?" he exclaimed, glancing behind him, noting also that a rather large shadow had just washed over him.

            "Hi," Hawkins said darkly, his covert short-warp a success. "I'm here to make it more unfair."

            Wrench cried out and turned all the way around, but it was over for him. Hawkins simply smashed him in the side of the head with one of his powerful fists, connecting again under the criminal's jaw with a punch that snapped his head back and sent his unconscious body arching through the air. Other members of Unit 5 scurried up behind Hawkins to place handcuffs on the downed criminal, while Hawkins helped Krysta to her feet. "He get you?" Hawkins asked, looking her over quickly.

            "Just a little singed," Krysta replied with a sharp cough, her arms wrapped around her waist. "A few good kicks, but nothing serious…"

            Hawkins appeared unsatisfied. "Sparks," he said, summoning one of their Unit 5 comrades. "Get Krysta back to base and have Lifesaver take a look at her. The rest of you, bring in that joker for questioning." He turned to Vulcan. "Rykov sent out a distress signal, but he took care of everything. Looks like this asshole had trapped the shopkeepers in a room. They're fine, thanks to your buddy." The lieutenant commander's frown deepened. "Are you okay?"

            "I…" Well he couldn't really say no. Vulcan was pale and sweating, and though he had indeed just nearly watched one of his best friends die, it seemed to Hawkins like there was something more to the situation. "It's nothing," Vulcan said anyway, knowing how flat it sounded.

            "Like hell. Were you hit?"

            Vulcan gritted his teeth, almost afraid to turn around. But he did anyway. The flames were subsiding thanks to the efforts of his squadmates, but he could still make out the arena where two years ago he'd faced down Tetra. "Look around you," he said quietly.

            Hawkins frowned even harder. But his expression softened with remarkable speed. Most would have been completely oblivious to Vulcan's reasoning, but Hawkins had been there too, and he knew something of Vulcan's internal conflicts regarding that battle. "I see it," he assured his friend. "I see it too."

            Feeling slightly less loopy now that he wasn't the only one seeing things, Vulcan shook his head slowly. "I…couldn't move. I just locked up."

            "It happens," Hawkins said, exhaling a long breath. "There's little you can do about it. Post traumatic stress syndrome occurs in Reploids too…it's the curse of being modeled after humans."

            "But he could have hurt her," Vulcan protested, clearly unsatisfied with this explanation. "He was this close to shooting one of us, because I couldn't…I couldn't fight back! It was just like…just like that time."

            Hawkins bowed his head slightly, his long black hair partially hiding his face, which was hardened with concentration. "We all made mistakes that day," he said quietly, without looking up. "None of us expected to see a tank roll up out of nowhere. We all froze. We all panicked. Then we did everything we could. And in Derringer's case it just wasn't enough."

            Hawkins picked his head up and laid a heavy hand on his silver comrade's shoulder. "But I'll tell you this much, Vulcan. Tetra killed Derringer, and then nearly killed you, and Scylla and all the others. But we got him. This guy," he gestured to where Wrench was being carted off by Unit 5 troops, "who was he? Some punk who almost got lucky. But now he got his."

            "And next time?" Vulcan asked quietly. The fires were out. Only the red glow cast by the sunset illuminated the square, reminding Vulcan of the red glow that had filled Megacity 5's skies that night…but for a very different, very horrible reason.

            "Next time?" Hawkins's voice became piercing. "That's up to you. It's up to all of us, Vulcan, to defend our friends. 'Cause I don't care what anyone else tells you, your friends are all you got in this world…especially if you're a Hunter. Right now we're fighting a shadow war against an invisible enemy. You gotta be on the lookout, pal. And if anyone…anyone…dares to come after your friends, you gotta send them to Hell so fast even Satan's surprised to see 'em. Next time someone who looks like Tetra points a gun at Krysta, what are you gonna do? Stand there and stare?"

            Vulcan closed his eyes and felt his body straighten, almost of its own accord. He remembered Hawkins kicking Tetra to the ground and unloading his weapon at nearly point-blank range into the writhing Maverick. But he didn't shudder at the thought of so brutal a killing. Instead it seemed almost…right. Tetra had done unspeakable things, and he had paid. Hawkins had defended his friends. And what would Vulcan do when the next time came along…?"

            "I'll send them to Hell," Vulcan answered, opening his eyes slowly.

            Hawkins nodded his head slowly and silently. "But let's hope," he added, turning away from Vulcan and preparing to warp back to base, "that it doesn't have to come to that."

            "Of course," Vulcan said, so quietly that it was barely audible. Before warping home—their patrol was just about over—he cast one final glance into the darkening square, where news cameras were beginning to pile up. Vulcan didn't see any phantasmal tankers wandering among them, but his face hardened just the same. Next time, he thought, he wouldn't hesitate. He just couldn't afford to. Next time, he knew, things would be different.

            But then why, he wondered, do I still shudder when I think of that day…?

***

**Zen Garden**

            The flowers in the large garden were all carefully arranged to aid in meditation. All were strikingly beautiful in their own way, but none were so famous as the cluster of violet flowers in an honorary position before a fountain designed to look like a small waterfall. These flowers had traveled all the way from New York, where they'd sprung up inexplicably during a December snowstorm. A tall blonde man occupied the bench directly in front of the waterfall, and though he was alone he had confined himself to half the bench rather than stretching out to occupy the whole thing…almost as though someone were there with him.

            Zero smiled softly, his senses picking up the nighttime summer breeze that carried the scent of the irises towards him. His arm stretched out along the back of the bench as though around someone's shoulders, and his entire body seemed in a state of perfect calm. His eyes were closed gently, and had there been any passerby they may have suspected that he'd dozed off. But he was fully awake and fully alert…perhaps even more so than at any other time.

            "How is it," he wondered mentally, "that we never thought to put one of these gardens in the old base?"

            You had a garden…as I recall. A beautiful one.

            The words seemed to pour into his ears from within the depths of his own mind, yet at the same time seemed to come from the thin air next to him. His smile grew slightly. "Yes…but it was nothing like this one. Though it must have been something special…to grow flowers in the middle of December."

            It had some help.

            He laughed quietly, surrendering completely to the moment, letting the sweet ethereal voice carry him to a place free of all the complications of his everyday world. "Yes…yes it did. As did I. And what do you think? Am I doing all right?"

            Of course you are…I'm still leading you by the hand, after all.

            He laughed again, shaking his head. "Don't ever let it go. I'm still a troublemaker deep down."

            Sometimes…the world needs a troublemaker.

            "Ah…does that mean they'll need one in the near future?" He'd begun to get used to the riddles used commonly by the inhabitants of the spectral realm. "What's the future hold for me…?"

            You know I can't tell you that…even if I knew it.

            "Aw, come on…I won't tell anyone. I'll even pinky-swear it."

            Oh, you…some things won't ever change…well…the specifics elude me…

            "Me too."

            Shhh…I'm trying to prophesize.

            "Sorry."

            Well…I guess…the world is changing, Zero…

            "Good change, or bad change?"

            …Difficult to say. But you…you should be able to weather it. The others…well, it's fuzzy, where your friends are concerned.

            Zero knew that should unnerve him. He knew it should sound warning bells in his mind, but the emotions of fear and nervousness were not applicable in the world he was presently part of. "Can I save them…?"

            You can try…and you must try. Maybe you will even succeed.

            It was the 'maybe' that finally darkened the mood. Zero's arm seemed to constrict, as though holding an unseen person closer to his own body. "Things are going to heat up again." It was a fact, not a question.

            I think so.

            "…You going to help me out?"

            An almost musical laugh lightened his spirits. Of course I am. Do you think I'm about to lose you again?

            Paradoxically, even as the words formed in Zero's mind the outside world began to press in on this small bit of heaven. Zero smiled almost sadly, glancing towards his otherworldly companion. "You'll come back?"

            The reply was both tender and reassuring, the kind of voice that would inspire Zero to overcome the hardest of obstacles a Maverick could throw at him. You always ask that…you're still afraid…why?

            "I don't want to lose you either…"

            You won't…you can't. I won't let you. The voice was growing distant. I'll see you soon…when things quiet down a little. …Zero, she added, somewhat severely, don't be afraid of…Him. We beat Him once…we can beat Him again.

            He didn't reflect at all on her words, merely filing them away for future recollection. Right now his only concern was focusing whole-heartedly on the last remnants of her presence. "Until then, Iris…I'll be waiting."

            I know you will. Be careful, Zero.

            The voice faded into obscurity, and Zero felt a pang of regret that the separation was necessary. He wanted so very badly for her to really be there next to him, but even now he was paying his penance for his deeds during the Repliforce War. The difference was, he didn't mind so much now. Not when he had a spectral girlfriend at his side.

            His eyes opened slowly, and he blinked away the few tears that always gathered for some reason during these "conversations". He reclined in the bench, hearing footsteps draw near, and he called out a greeting even before his friend was visible. "Lo, X."

            So powerful was the lingering sense of presence next to Zero that X almost asked if the other half of the bench was occupied. Experiences such as this had become numerous enough that X had decided that Zero was simply haunted. "Lo, Zero," he replied, taking a seat next to his best friend. "You look like you've been sleepwalking."

            "Well, that's what happens when we run out of coffee, X."

            "You and your coffee…"

            The two of them sat in silence, staring ahead at the peaceful pool at the heart of the garden. Water trickled down from the natural fountains in a soothing rhythm, while the half-moon above them was reflected off the glassy surface of the pool. X nearly fell asleep himself.

            "Do you ever think," Zero finally said, "that the world has seemed different ever since Seraph Castle?"

            X's gaze remained riveted on the pool, as did Zero's. "Sometimes, yes. It's not like before, when we just did our best to contain the Sigma Virus. Now it's like we've set a mousetrap…and when it goes off, anything can happen."

            "Hmm." Zero knitted his fingers behind his head. "If and when Chartreuse does put another war into motion…do you think all our plans will be worth it?"

            "Do you?" X replied, smiling without much humor. "A war can be a million different things for that man…I have no idea if we'll be able to counter him effectively."

            "If we kill him off…do you think he'll pop back up again?"

            "You mean like Sigma? I thought the Virus only worked that way on him?"

            "That's what it told me…but who trusts a blob of Evil Incarnate?"

            "True."

            Silence reigned for a little longer. Then X finally spoke his mind. "Will stronger security measures put Chartreuse in check?"

            Zero began to chuckle. "You battled Caligula, didn't you?"

            "I did…and I don't know if I was right."

            "You're both right, X. Both sides of this argument have their merit. And if the world were perfect, we'd implement Caligula's policy now and rescind it when Kou Cao is destroyed."

            "But that won't happen. It'll remain in effect."

            "Yeah…because this sure as hell ain't a perfect world."

            Silence. Swirls of thin clouds passed over the moon, clouding up the image on the water.

            "You think we'll ever have a perfect world, Zero? Doppler's Utopia? General's world of equality?"

            "Sure," Zero said, grinning toothily. "When we die."

            "…Well aren't you Mr. Optimism."

            "Hah!" Zero shook his head and laughed. "X, humans and Reploids will eventually gain pseudo-equality, just like in every other racial battle in civilized nations. But just like those battles it'll take time…probably more time than a world of instant gratification is willing to wait. Maybe one of our races will become extinct before equality happens. Maybe one of us will be forced into slavery. I don't know." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "All I do know is that equality is never gonna come about while we're all shooting at each other like this."

            "Amen," X agreed, tilting his own head towards the heavens. The stars gazed right back down at him, as though issuing some form of challenge. "Will we be ready, Zero? When the dominos start falling, will we be ready to save the world again?"

            "Yeah, X…we'll be ready."

            "How do you know…?"

            Zero opened his eyes, finding himself gazing directly at the half-moon in the sky.

            "Because as usual, my friend…we simply won't have a choice."

__________

            The two men had come via the sea. They wore black wetsuits and scampered up the beach, their tracks covered by the unsettled waves caused by Mustafa's impending eclipse. One of them carried a watertight briefcase.

            They reached their target quickly, unseen by the reconnaissance droids, which they had taken care to avoid. The man with the briefcase set it down and whistled as he beheld the scenery—a natural occurrence like he'd never seen before. "How about that, amigo?"

            "Huh." Carlos left it at that, gesturing towards the briefcase. "Let's just set it and go."

            "Think they made it this way?" Victor wouldn't let it go. It wasn't every day you saw a natural occurrence like this. "Or think it just happened that way…?"

            "Of course it's manmade," Carlos said impatiently. "Nature doesn't make structures like this…not often, anyway," he added thoughtfully. "In any case the target shows up here almost daily. There's no reason to suspect he'll do otherwise tomorrow."

            "Yeah," Victor agreed, opening the case. The two of them immediately went to work, removing the steel canisters of Nexnecis gas and setting their trap. It took them all of a minute.

            "Be really fucking careful," Carlos said forcefully, dealing cautiously with the tripwire. "This thing gets nicked, we both wind up smiling stupidly at Saint Peter!"

            "You think I'm some kinda idiot?" Victor scoffed, closing the case and retreating from their trap. The sound of the nearby sea resonated in his ears. The only thing he couldn't hear was the… "Oh, man."

            "What?"

            "The birds…I was kinda hoping they'd still be hangin' around."

            "The birds?"

            "Y'know…hoo-"

            "Yeah, yeah, whatever, you fucknut! You and your god damn birds!"

            "You'd laugh too, man."

            Carlos shook his head and glanced at the sky. The recon droids were nowhere in sight. "Let's just get the hell outta here, okay? The bug is gonna want an update."

            "You sure this was all a good idea?" Victor asked as they darted back towards the open sea, preparing to close his airmask. "I mean, I don't know the guy, but I sure as hell know the unit, and it's not exactly an unimportant one—"

            "This is the Tokyo base," Carlos said impatiently. "They're all important units. Let's just disappear, all right? We were never here…this never happened."

            And then both men were gone, and they had never been there…but their act had definitely happened.

            Fifteen minutes later Magna Centipede received a flash message confirming that Carlos Sanchez and Victor Zokas had accomplished their mission. It was now only a matter of time. The Serpent operative, chuckling anxiously, placed a call to Guyver Helm, who in turn began to activate his other assassins.

            In New York, Nexnecis canisters were planted in the Yates Park forest preserve.

            In Denver, a team of gunmen peered out of their hotel room at a restaurant across the street favored by some of the younger local Hunters.

            In Beijing, two men with a Dozer missile launcher positioned it in the direction of a research barracks used by Hunter scientists.

            In London, a sniper reviewed the floor plan of Big Ben, his nest for the next morning.

            And in Tokyo, hidden by waves of water and waves of irrelevant message traffic, two unknown assassins swam away from one of the easier jobs of their careers.

***

**Catskill Mountains**

**Megacity 5, New York**

            It was cold. Horribly, oppressively cold.

            It was summer, but it was cold. She was high in the mountains, which, she thought, explained why it was so icy, but probably it was just her body overreacting that made it seem all the more frosty.

            She crawled instead of walking, dragging her battered body across the desolate rocky landscape towards a goal she didn't have, a destination she couldn't find, and safety that seemed to elude her. The ground beneath her shivering golden body was stained with blood, blood that leaked lightly but definitely from her minor but numerous wounds. Pain choked her, stopping her breath in her throat and sending her into convulsions. She slumped to the ground, weeping bitterly into the frosty dirt.

            "It's not my fault," she mumbled, in a voice close to a whimper. "It's not my fault…I didn't do it…it was her…it was all her…"

            But the exhausted Reploid knew that her pleas would do her no good. They never had. Even now they had vilified her, blaming her for that terrible explosion, and would soon find and capture her. Then she'd be returned to them, and to her…and then would come the torture, and finally a resounding silence. She could see her already, that evil woman…her scorpion's tail hovering menacingly in the air, her golden eyes glinting maliciously…

            Alutriel emitted a pathetic, defeated cry. The last of her energy evaporated and she lay immobile on the cold earth, trembling from her terror. Why, why had she been stupid enough to run…why had she dared to try and escape…no one escaped, no one ever escaped…not from Armada…

            But no, no, she couldn't do it anymore, she couldn't watch them any longer! She couldn't listen to the screams…she couldn't stand the fear in their eyes…she had to leave, before it was her turn…

            That poor man…what was his name? The man in black…destroyed and rebuilt, though never dead…tempted and enslaved by the power they offered, broken by Chartreuse and immortalized by the Warlord…all the while with longing flickers of a dead woman passing through his tortured mind.

            "Revenant…" she whispered his name, as though begging forgiveness. "I'm sorry…I tried to stop them…"

            She remembered the gunfire well. She could still see Scorpio rushing at her, her tail lancing into Alutriel's leg and injecting the venom that even now coursed through her veins, killing her slowly and agonizingly. She could hear Scorpio's missiles exploding into the gas containers, causing the leak that poisoned Megacity 5's water. And now here she was, with the entirety of the Hunters and the Megacity Army chasing her down so they could humiliate her, torment her, and finally kill her, flinging her corpse atop the pile of other "Maverick" criminals to meet similar fates.

            "Bless the Mavericks," she whispered, almost unconsciously. "I hope they come back…I hope they win…I hope…" Images of humans flew threw her mind, humans with sneering faces, all in military uniforms. "I hope the humans all die!"

            The last line was delivered with an almost heaven-shattering force. Then even her shivering subsided, and she lay motionless.

            But then…her eyes fluttered open. Something was there all of a sudden…as though her last words had summoned something nearby. She didn't know what or where, but there was something…and all of a sudden she was filled with an almost animal desire, a craving unlike anything she had ever known. She forced her weakened body towards the force calling to her, unable to describe it to herself, only knowing that she must find it.

            Then, as soon as the craving had begun, it ceased. Alutriel blinked, terribly confused. She looked around herself, noting that she'd crawled into a clearing of sorts—a great circle of flat stone. And there…what was that? She moved a little closer to an edge of the circle, and found…yes, the ground was stained with…

            "Blood," she whispered. "Reploid blood…"

            Once, a long time ago, there had been a battle here. She didn't know how she knew this, but all of a sudden the knowledge was there. She didn't so much as see them as she felt them—two mortal enemies, crossing swords in a hellish skirmish, desperately fighting for their own survival. It was impossible, however, to tell which one had triumphed.

            And then she saw it.

            It was a glistening black diamond, lying in the center of a large bloodstain—perhaps one of the combatants had lain there bleeding for some time. The gemstone, itself an unlikely occurrence in these mountains, further attracted her attention when it seemed to pulsate…a deep violet glow from within the dark, glossy surface.

            The wild craving resurfaced in Alutriel, and almost involuntarily she reached out for it. Take me, it seemed to say. I am yours.

            The instant her shaking fingers closed around the stone she let out a stunned cry, falling back to the cold earth. Her body trembled fiercely as the stone began to glow brighter, and her green eyes remained focused on the core of the diamond, almost as though she couldn't take them away. A warm glow traveled from the stone onto her hand, racing up her arm and flowing over her stricken body. A moan of relief escaped her lips and she curled up on the ground, pressing the gemstone to her chest, the world around her enveloped by a swirling black mist that seemed to her the most comforting thing in the world. Her pain was subsiding, Scorpio's venom was vanquished, and her cold body was warmed.

            Then came the voice. It was deep and powerful, yet infinitely soothing. It was one of those voices that you couldn't say no to…though for a slightly different reason. "Alutriel…is that…your name…?"

            "Who…are you?" she whispered, as though speaking to a person standing over her.

            Then Alutriel's body suddenly straightened. The girl stared back at the stone circle, where she could now better visualize the spectral combatants. A man in red armor had been thrown back through the air, his blonde ponytail trailing him like a tattered cape. A taller swordsman strode triumphantly towards him, but before he could strike his bald head was destroyed by a sniper's bullet. So detached from the world was Alutriel that she failed to recognize both famous Reploids.

            The voice resonated once more in her mind, answering her query at last. "I…am…"

            From the body of the bald swordsman came a swirling mass of black energies gravitating around a glowing red core.

            "…Gehirn."

            The Evil Energy now occupied the entirety of Alutriel's world. The enthralled Reploid experienced a jolt of rapture, suddenly feeling power unlike anything she'd ever imagined. She stared almost lovingly at the dark, skeletal face before her, extending her hand. "Help me."

            "Shhhh." It was as though the mysterious force was stroking its fingertips gently down his new host's face, soothing her into sweet slumber. "Go to sleep, my dear girl. Go to sleep…when you awaken…all shall be as it should be."

            Even as Alutriel succumbed to the dark embrace of her new ally, another presence teleported into the Catskills. But this was one that the entity had met once before.

            "Altruistic fool," Gemeines Gehirn thought, sensing the figure approaching the stone circle. "But then…where would I be…without you heroes…to blaze my trails?"

            The black diamond in Alutriel's hand sizzled with violet fire, eventually melting into a wave of energy that flowed into the sleeping girl's arm. She twitched once, and then was still. Once nestled safely inside her, the entity directed its attention at the spectral red Hunter, and its crimson core blazed with fiery anger.

            "And you…traitor! Enjoy your freedom while you can. When my…strength returns…I shall find you…and they shall give accounts of your torments in the worst pits of Hell…to scare the devils!!!"

            The laugh that followed was as otherworldly as its origin. It was a laugh that reverberated in Alutriel's subconscious mind. It was a laugh that echoed off the Catskill Mountains themselves. It was a laugh that encompassed an entire planet…a laugh that pierced the slumber of a Maverick Hunter thousands of miles away…

            …The eternal laugh of the world's deadliest Virus.

__________

            Zero's eyes flew open.

            The blonde Hunter sat bolt upright in his bed, his body bathed in a cold sweat. His arm shot out to grasp his beam saber, his eyes looking frantically for his opponent.

            But there was no opponent. There was only the darkness…

            …And the fear. The greatest fear that Zero had known in two years.

            The fear was not for himself, he realized, getting to his feet. There was a flash of light around him, and he was armored suddenly in his familiar scarlet suit. The fear was for someone else…someone was in danger…and he knew this because of…

            No…no, that wasn't possible!

            Zero tore open his curtains, looking outside at the grounds of the Hunter Headquarters. It was already morning. The sun was spilling its first rays onto the earth, and many Hunters were already up and working on their morning routines. Zero knew X would be awake, groggily compiling the information he'd need to give the morning report. But was X the one in danger? X, of all people…?

            Delates, Zero thought suddenly and for no reason. Where is Delates? Out on the beach again? The Hunter looked towards the ocean, which was wild and stormy, probably due to the impending eclipse. Would he really go out there this morning? Of course he would, Delates loves the wild seas…

            Zero turned left his room with alarming speed. His legs knew where they were going but his mind did not. He just let himself move mechanically, for lack of better term, always with the fear in the back of his mind, the dark face smirking at him from across the void, taunting his powerlessness.

            Damia, Zero thought next. Damia, lord knows how luckless YOU are! Where are you now?

            He shouldered his way past two surprised Hunters, his gait quickening all the while. A wild panic was beginning to build up within him. Archer? Mason? Or someone else…Caligula? Douglas? Signas! Would they dare go after you?

            Then a sickening feeling coursed through his veins, a feeling that started him on an all-out run, barreling through enraged comrades who settled down when they caught a glimpse of the frantic Reploid's face. There was something beyond fear in Zero's eyes.

            The crimson Hunter then, without thinking, did the worst possible thing he could do in this scenario—he took the elevator.

            The doors closed slowly and the car descended even slower. Zero was alone, but he wouldn't have cared otherwise. A bout of nausea rose within him, and his knees began to shake as the long, torturous elevator ride drew to its close.

            "It's happening," Zero whispered, his battle senses coming to life. "Whatever it is, it's happening now…oh, God…"

            Delates let out a roar of challenge, holding his arms out and laughing maniacally at the raging seas. Large waves rushed up around him, while in the back of the sky a distant thunderstorm sent bolts of lightning arcing across the sky. The wind tousled his unprotected hair, and he grinned like the sorcerer he resembled. Around him, his hoo-aka birds hovered just barely above the rushing water, quacking angrily, probably about Mustafa's blasted eclipse ruining their morning.

            "BWA HA HA!" Delates bellowed. "ECLIPSE! GIVE MY OCEAN LIFE! LIFE I TELL YOU! LIIIIIIIFE!"

            The seas responded by generating a large wall of water that came crashing down twenty feet in front of the beach, sending a rush of seawater around Delates's ankles and nearly drowning one of the hoo-akas.

            "You're crazy!" someone above the cliffs shouted down at the casually dressed Delates.

            "You're a runner," Delates retorted, saluting Hawkins with the same crazy grin he wore addressing the ocean. "Don't talk to me about crazy!"

            "Whatever you say!" Hawkins laughed, sprinting ahead with Vulcan in tow.

            "Hey Vulcan!" Delates shouted after them. "Don't let that kook push you around! Come down here with me and talk to seagulls!"

            "Leave my apprentice madman alone," Hawkins shouted back. "Go get Tyclammel to help you talk to seagulls. He's the only one as nuts as you!"

            "Ah, get outta here, ya putz!" Delates cracked his back, his grin melting into a yawn. He straightened up, looking back out at the angry seas. "WHAT?" he challenged. "YOU WANT SOME OF THIS?"

            "Hoo-aka!" responded an annoyed bird.

            Delates laughed. His morning had just been made. "Whatever you say, bird." The Hunter was not about to go back to base yet, however. Scenes like this were too good to miss. He would, however, take a seat. Zero's second-in-command approached the Throne, shaking his head as he got closer. "No friggin' way was this an act of nature," he remarked of the interlinked slabs of rock. Then he turned to sit down.

            "That guy has lost it," Vulcan declared, keeping up with Hawkins this time.

            "You say that now," Hawkins responded patronizingly. "But in a few years he'll be asking for your transfer to Unit 0, and suddenly he'll be the coolest guy in the world, and all us schmucks will mean a whole lot less to you. I know how young minds work."

            "Yeah, I know, I'm a disloyal prick." Vulcan laughed and kicked up his speed as they passed into Wormswood Forest. "What's the matter, old man? Can't keep up?"

            "Is that a race I doth sense?" Hawkins asked, his challenge in his eyes. "To the Pillars!"

            To Bob and Larry! Vulcan thought of the two trees, that amazing natural formation. Like hell, I bet Caligula planted them that way just to freak us all out. Behind him he clearly heard the sound of the nearby ocean, though due to the wild waters he couldn't hear what he really wanted to hear. "Damn," he said, disappointed.

            "What?"

            "It's…well I kinda wanted to hear those birds."

            "Not you too!" Hawkins slapped his forehead. "You and your god damned birds!" Their paces quickened. The Pillars drew near. "Enough of this talk!" Hawkins declared, pulling ahead. "Time for you to get schooled!"

            You're on!

That was what Vulcan was going to say. Only, he didn't. Because something extremely hard and agonizingly painful had just struck him in the face.

            The doors of Hunter Headquarters burst open, and the frenzied Commander Zero raced outside. Vaguely he was aware of Commander Zegmann rushing up beside him, having followed him from inside the building, but Zero was oblivious to Zegmann's queries. "Something's wrong," was all he said, looking around frantically, unsure where to go. "Something's not right…"

            Then he doubled over as though struck in the stomach. Fighting down a rush of coolant that had inexplicably decided to shoot up his throat, Zero got back to his full height, turning to look the unnerved Erich Zegmann in the eyes. Then his head turned slowly towards the beach. Zero's breath caught in his throat when he saw the scene before his eyes, but that was nothing like the feeling that resurfaced within the back of his mind.

            It was the feeling of death. Somewhere, someone he knew was dying.

            "There is nothing…you can do." The voice resonated through his mind, a smooth, seductive, hateful voice. "You have already lost…my dear Maverick Hunter!"

            Delates took his seat on the rocky Throne, three birds fluttering around him like an honor guard. He thought that was pretty neat. The Hunter nestled himself against the vertical pillar, and returned his direction to the sea, which was when his eyes suddenly got very, very wide. The next second he realized, very suddenly, that he couldn't breathe.

            A horrendous surge of pain raced down his body, and then the Hunter Delates knew no more.

            "Aaaauuuuuugh!" Vulcan groaned, clutching his bruised face angrily. It had been inevitable after all—a tree had just clotheslined him. "What is that?!" Vulcan growled, jumping to his feet. "That's such crap!"

            "Vulcan!" Hawkins called out, a few feet away, right by the Pillars. "Vulcan are you—"

            "I'm fine," Vulcan called back, about the same time he heard a snap sounded like the crack of a head against wood—that sound, after all, was still fresh in his mind. Hmph. So Hawkins had gotten smacked, too.

            Then suddenly Vulcan felt very woozy. He was aware of his tired lungs aching—must be that even Reploids ran out of breath on wet morning runs—and then there was a roar of some sort…from the beach?

            Vulcan yelped, falling to the ground. His head was on fire…had he hit himself that hard? His eyes opened in shock—what was happening? Then came the loudest scream he'd ever heard—a scream of pure, unrefined pain, one that chilled his blood until he realized that he was emitting one exactly like it.

            "Oh…oh God," he blustered, confused and suddenly very frightened. He thought quickly, turning on his communicator and calling a general Headquarters frequency. "Someone…pick up!"

            "This is Commander Zero," a voice responded, as though he'd been waiting for this call. "Who is this? Where are you?"

            "This is Vulcan," he replied, feeling what must be blood trickle down his face. "I…aaaarrrgh!" Pain washed over him once more. "Wormswood," he choked out. "Pillars…!"

            "We're coming, " Zero responded. "We're on our way!"

            But Vulcan never heard it. He never heard anything else. All he heard was gunfire, and all he saw was a ruined circle of buildings. The smoking remains of a stolen Megacity Army tank lay before him, and its former master approached Vulcan's prone form, an assault rifle in his hands, a look of joy in his eyes. Vulcan felt the wet blood of his friend Derringer soaking his body. He felt the leather of Derringer's face on the back of his neck. He saw the fear in his own eyes reflected off Tetra's optics, and the tanker leveled the rifle at his Hunter opponent, and his finger tightened on the trigger. Tetra laughed aloud. The muzzle of the rifle flashed white. Vulcan screamed.

And this time…no one came to his rescue.


	6. We All Fall Down

**Episode Four—We All Fall Down **

****

_July 31_

_Something has just happened._

_I was going to say it looked like an ordinary day, but something is happening at the front of the Headquarters. There is a cluster of Hunters…I don't know what is the matter yet. It seems that Zero has rushed towards what the troops call Wormswood Forest…_

_…Lifesaver has just appeared. He has several doctors with him. They too are heading for the forest. I must find out what is going on at my base…_

_--Personal Log, Commander Signas_

_

* * *

_

**Alison's Diner **

**Denver, Colorado**

Captain Greaves threw open the doors of the diner in a grand gesture, bellowing a greeting to his favorite waitress as the other six Hunters in his junior unit filed in behind him. The regular patrons shook their heads disdainfully. The local Hunters always seemed so boorish to them.

Greaves paid them no mind, however. The big gray Reploid, the embodiment of a trucker gone militant, swept his waitress, Sandee, into a big hug and merely gestured towards two empty booths, which his unit noisily occupied. "Mornin', Miss," Greaves said gallantly. "I wonder if you could find some of those pancakes you know I love so much?"

The waitress, who was also Greaves' sweetheart, merely smiled and pecked her man on the cheek. "You keep hold of yourself, Greaves. I don't want any trouble like last time, all right?"

"Trouble!" Greaves guffawed, banging his fist on one of the booth tables jovially. "No trouble from this gentleman! Or his dependents! Isn't that _right_?" he growled, tossing a glance behind him.

To a one his unit members swore to behave. Sandee just shook her head and went to order the pancakes, the usual breakfast for Captain Greaves' division of Unit 5, Maverick Hunters. The six Hunters under Greaves included four male Reploids and two human females, and Greaves may have been going batty but he'd be damned if some of them weren't making eyes at each other. Not that he cared one way or another. Greaves had turned out many a Hunter in his time, graduating them to higher units, and he was fairly well respected despite his unruly tendencies. This morning meal was a sort of ritual he'd concocted—rather than getting plastered after completing a training exercise, Greaves took his team out to his favorite diner, one most of them frequented anyway.

"Eat up, boys!" Greaves declared once Sandee had returned with the tower of pancakes. "I haven't seen mountain tactics like that since my group three years ago!"

"It's good to be the kings," agreed Greaves' top student, a likable green Reploid named, of all things, Opium.

These happy Hunters, dining in this quaint little restaurant on the outskirts of the bustling Denver Megacity, couldn't possibly have known that thousands of miles away in Tokyo, a switch had just been triggered releasing deadly gas from two steel canisters, a switch that also triggered an alert within the shrine of a Reploid called Magna Centipede. They had no idea that a small cabal of men had gathered near the diner who knew exactly where their unit would be sitting and who had just received orders, along with scores of other such groups, to commence operations.

Therefore it came as quite a surprise to Greaves when the front of the diner vanished in a cloud of fire.

"Jesus!" Greaves exclaimed, bolting to his feet but unable to take other conscious action for a second while he processed the scenario. By then it was too late—two Reploids and three humans had marched through the new doorway and had begun spraying adaman bullets towards the two booths. Adaman bullets, the most destructive rounds on the market, were outlawed in rapid-fire mechanisms simply because of their power, and by the time Greaves realized that yes, this was really happening to him, one of his human female troops simply ceased to have a body, caught by a hail of the infamous bullets. What was left of her hit the ground in a cloud of red mist with a series of sickening wet plops.

This triggered Greaves' warrior impulse. Despite a sharp pain in his shoulder, signifying a hit, he called forth his armor and his weapon, a mighty axe, and started forward slowly, already taking hits that punctured his armor and hurt him badly. Opium was faster. The green Reploid donned his armor instinctively as soon as he heard the explosion, racing towards the attackers with his beam saber drawn. It gashed a bloody line through one of the Reploid attackers, spilling a chunk of his right arm onto the ground.

Greaves surged forward, emboldened by Opium's actions, but his valor didn't last long. Opium crumpled like a crushed weed as the second Reploid, one in sky blue armor, unloaded the last of his ammunition into the Hunter at nearly point blank range. Greaves swung his axe maybe twice before sinking to his knees, missing much of his abdomen. He spat up blood, tuning out the terrified shrieks of the surviving patrons to behold the sorry remains of his unit—all six were dead.

The sky blue Reploid smiled down at the defeated Greaves. He reloaded his weapon along with his comrades, while Greaves quietly signaled the local Hunter HQ with a distress signal that would yield results far too late. The enemy leader smiled at the cowering Sandee and, to Greaves' horror, proceeded to obliterate her. His comrades heartlessly hosed down the innocents trapped in the building, taking after their boss.

"_NO!_" Greaves exhaled, leaping towards the blue Reploid, who dodged with the help of jet packs built into his back. Two new bullets severed Greaves' right arm, and the dying Hunter fell hard the floor. "You…!" he gasped at the approaching blue Reploid. "Kou…Cao!"

This provoked a laugh in a scathing voice that would have inspired Greaves to dislike the man even if he hadn't been in the process of dying by his hand. "No," the Reploid said, shaking his head almost patronizingly. "He's just my boss. Me, I'm Daedalus…king of the air. You, _mon capitan_, are king of worms now." His buddies stepped beside him, their reloaded weapons leveled at the doomed Hunter, who quivered with rage.

Daedalus's shit-eating grin just grew wider. "You're gonna help my boss send the most powerful message to Commander Signas that's ever been sent before. It's really easy for you, too. All you gotta do is die."

As a storm of adaman bullets reduced a Hunter captain's body to scraps in a Denver diner, two other Hunter captains in London fell with holes in their throats courtesy of a sniper hiding in Big Ben tower.

In Beijing, China, Hunters and civilian scientists reported to work at a small research building that produced arms for the local Hunter force. Ten minutes after receiving the go-order, a team of only two men fired Dozer missiles into the building, transforming it and everyone inside to ashes.

In Megacity 5, in the same Yates Forest that Sting Chameleon had lorded over a decade earlier, canisters containing more of Doc Volvar's Nexnecis came to life as a team of exercising senior Hunters hit the tripwire. The shimmering golden gas took precisely six seconds to kick into action, and all twelve Hunters who'd inhaled it fell to the ground in excruciating agony. Eight died on the spot; two of the four remaining radioed the base for help.

All around the world, Hunters of all rank and race were killed in one fell swoop…

**

* * *

**

****

**Tokyo Headquarters**

…And in Japan, it was no different.

The first sign Alec had that it would be an interesting day was the sight of what had to be the biggest wave he'd ever seen racing towards the HQ. The wall of water, no doubt a present from Mustafa's foreshadowed eclipse, slammed into the Hunter beach with a deafening roar that echoed all throughout the Hunter grounds.

Apparently this wave had done some damage. Alec came to this conclusion because, as he completed his stroll around the HQ building en route to his morning meeting, he saw a gaggle of Hunters clustering around a clearly confused Erich Zegmann. The commotion had started almost as soon as the little tsunami had touched down, which led the pilot to his conclusion. Alec excused himself, meaning he said, "Move it!", and pushed roughly through the crowd until he found his fellow commander. "What's the deal?" he asked.

Before Zegmann could answer, the crowd parted like the Red Sea as Lifesaver and two fellow medics, Doctors Carlton and Ledyard, drove through on ride-chasers with special medical sidecars. Alec's eyebrows rose involuntarily. The doctors offered no comment, speeding away from the HQ. But to Alec's surprise they did not head for the beach, but rather for Wormswood Forest.

"What's all this?" Alec asked again. This time Zegmann obliged him, shrugging his broad shoulders in a gesture of annoyed helplessness.

"Zero came out here acting all funny," the big human explained, waving half-heartedly towards the forest. "He got a call from some kid out there…sounded like something happened. Looks like it, too," Zegmann concluded, nodding at the distant medics.

"Hmm." Alec blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes and noted with interest that the assembled crowd now included the prominent Signas himself, along with the ever-watchful Caligula, who looked as though he were bracing himself for a ruined morning.

Signas, it turned out, was heading right for the two commanders. "What's going on?"

Zegmann couldn't help looking tired. "Zero came out here looking all shook up, then we intercepted a communication from the forest…seems like there's some trouble."

"What's the trouble?" asked a new voice. Alec glanced back to see Commander Archer standing directly behind him.

"Zero came out and…" Zegmann threw up his hands. "Someone else, please!"

"Someone sent an SOS from the forest," Alec summarized.

"Who was that?" Archer asked, frowning curiously.

"I think we're about to find out," Caligula said, out of nowhere. He'd appeared behind Signas like a ghost and just as ethereally flowed towards the front of the group, which quieted down even though unbidden. They could all see the three ride-chasers returning, their emergency lights flickering in a dance of rubies and sapphires. Lifesaver led the group and was alone; Doctor Ledyard had a big, black-haired man on his sidecar, and even at a distance the contorted grimace of pain on his face was clearly visible. Right behind him was Doctor Carlton, who toted a smaller Reploid with a similar expression, though he seemed to be twitching slightly. Aside from this they were both immobile. Zero brought up the rear, his accelerator boots slower than the ride-chasers but speedy nonetheless. His expression was unreadable. The Hunters followed them with their eyes as they approached, every single one of them thinking the same thing: _This isn't a broken bone. Someone is dead._

"Vulcan!" Alec exclaimed, totally forgetting himself and breaking out in a run towards Carlton's ride chaser as it came to a stop. "Vulcan…oh, Jesus Christ!"

Commander Tremont's action had the effect of shattering the artificial stillness that had fallen over the crowd. Just like that the mass of Hunters started in every which direction, while Lifesaver shouted for them to get out of his way while he helped load Vulcan and Hawkins onto stretchers born by other members of the medical staff, which had assembled at the mouth of the HQ.

"_Hawkins_!" Archer boomed, bodily shoving his way through the crowd and nearly flooring Zegmann as he passed. Dr. Ledyard rushed to intercept Archer but he was too late—Archer beheld the armorless form of his best friend, saw the blood falling from his lips, saw the pale flesh sketched with black spots from veins ruptured beneath the skin.

"Archer!" Caligula intervened, bringing the tall Hunter away from the stretcher. He had surprising force for a fairly small Reploid. Ledyard took the opportunity to get Hawkins spirited away to the infirmary, with Vulcan following close behind. Alec rushed in after them. "Archer," Caligula said again, "you need to get a grip!"

"What happened to him?" Archer roared, slamming his hands onto Caligula's shoulders. "What the _fuck _happened to him…to _them_?"

"We don't know," Lifesaver put in, stepping up behind Caligula. "There was some kind of…"

"Gas," a new voice finished. They all turned to behold Commander Zero. "Get working, Doc, I'll tell them what we saw."

"Good." Lifesaver shook his head as though to clear it, blinking through bloodshot eyes. "See me later, Zero," he added before leaving.

Zero clamped a hand on Archer's shoulder, helping to steady his comrade. Zero, however, was barely steadied himself—his sense of balance seemed to be off. His eyes were bloodshot as well, and Caligula thought he looked a bit pale too. But then, Zero had apparently not been himself all morning. "He was like that when I found him," Zero was telling Archer. "Vulcan too…I pulled them away from it, but I…wasn't fast enough."

"Away from what?" Signas joined the conversation.

Zero's explanation was delayed by a sudden racking cough. "Some kind of gold shit…gas, or something."

"Gold gas…" Something lit up in Caligula's eyes. The intelligence chief suddenly snapped into action, herding Signas like a sheep towards the base. "Sir, you need to get inside, now."

Signas blinked. "What are you…"

"_Get inside now!_" Caligula thundered, and Commander Zegmann, understanding, began to usher Zero and Archer in the same direction. "Everyone!" Caligula yelled to the Hunters that remained outside. "Get into the base! This place is under attack!"

"Dammit!" Signas growled, surprised that he hadn't realized the significance. The Hunters retreated into the building with embarrassing disorder, Caligula and Zegmann bringing up the rear. Signas lost himself in the shuffle. Everything was moving too fast all of a sudden…but why? What had happened? And what were they supposed to do next?

Caligula had taken full charge of the situation, leading the present Commanders to a small lobby away from the general hustle. "Where are the others?"

"X is probably on his way to the briefing," Zero said breathlessly. "He probably doesn't even know…"

"I'm going," Archer declared, still in some shock. "I've gotta know what's…what's going to…"

"Zegmann, take Archer to the medical wing." Caligula looked hard at Zero. "You don't look good."

"I'll be fine," Zero waved it off, despite the cold sweat he clearly felt.

"Get to the infirmary."

"No, the docs are busy enough." Zero raised his hand to stall further objection. "I'll go later. You heard me tell him that out there, right?" He turned to Signas, finally fixing the Grand Commander with his full attention. "What do you need?"

Signas rooted himself back in reality, ashamed at getting flustered now of all times. "I need all the other commanders…Zero, go, find them and get them to me. Then see a doctor."

"Right," the crimson Hunter said, starting off. "I…I don't think it's related to the gas. I've been messed up since I woke up…"

"So I hear." Signas nodded again and the Hunter vanished. He turned to Caligula, but in transit his eyes detected a much-needed face. "Castle!"

"Castle, Acrystos," Caligula greeted them, Reploids in black and green. "Where's Damia?"

"We don't know," Castle responded, puzzled. "What's going on?"

"Find her, send her to me," Signas ordered. "We need the commanders—"

"Shit," Caligula said suddenly. "Sir, he said it was a gas…"

Signas reeled. "Oh, god…"

"Gas?" Castle was frowning. "Sirs, seriously, what is going on?"

"You two get the rest of your unit suited up with masks and quarantine the forest out there," Caligula ordered. Curiously, Castle and Acrystos straightened up as though they were responding to Damia herself. "And if you do see your leader, send her to the war room."

"Are we under attack?" Castle dared to ask, before leaving.

Caligula looked at him steely. "Yes."

The Unit 8 soldiers took off. Signas and Caligula both turned and headed for the aforementioned war room. "You're sure about that?" Signas asked quietly as they walked. "What you just said?"

"It was poison," Caligula suggested. "Zero said it was gold. It's _him_, Signas. He's just declared war."

* * *

"What's his status?"

"He's not breathing, nor is his generator functioning!"

"A rupture?"

"We don't know, it's just not supplying power!"

"Well _get it working_, dammit!"

"We're trying! It's not responding to the charges."

"God _damn_ it, Hawkins!" Lifesaver hissed, frantically taking the patient's blood samples. "What on earth happened to you…" He blinked, examining a sample with his own eyes before passing it to an assistant. "Doesn't seem to be anything in the blood…"

"We're assuming it was a gas," Ledyard reminded him. "It probably works through inhalation."

"Where are our scans?" Lifesaver asked next, very impatiently.

"Still being processed," Carlton replied, from where he was hooking Vulcan up to life-support and performing similar tests. "Give it another minute."

"I don't think we _have _another minute!" Lifesaver declared sourly, just as the door flew open and Commander Archer entered.

"Oh, no," Ledyard protested, getting in between the commander and Hawkins. "Sir, you have to leave."

"What happened to them, Sidney?" Archer asked, his voice shaking. "What happened…? Are they all right?"

"No, they're not all right," Ledyard replied, bravely imposing his human body against Archer's metallic might and urging him from the room with Zegmann's help. "And we need to help him, and we need you out of here so we can do that."

"_Archer_!" a brusque voice barked, coming from a figure racing down the hallway. It was Mason. "Archer, you gotta let the men work!"

"Oh, thank god," Ledyard breathed, passing Archer off to his friend. He looked to Alec Tremont, whose eyes were riveted on the younger Reploid, Vulcan. "You, too. Out."

"Tell me," Alec said gravely, looking his fellow human right in the eye. "Tell me how bad…"

Sidney Ledyard faltered. He blinked quickly, his mouth twitched, but he couldn't bring himself to answer. "Please leave," he finally did say, while in the background Lifesaver continued to call for the results of the internal scans of his patients.

Alec nodded, the slowest nod of his life. Then he did leave.

* * *

Zero ran bodily into nearly every other Hunter he encountered on his mad search for X, making only the lightest attempts at apologies. He had more important things on his mind at the moment than etiquette. "Commanders!" he bellowed through the halls until his communicator patched in frequencies so he could find them directly. When that failed he repeated the process. Then he finally hit pay dirt.

"Zero!" Damia yelled, doubling back and heading his way. "Zero, what's going on?"

"We were attacked," the crimson Hunter said. His body shivered and he grimaced, bracing himself against the wall.

"Zero?" Damia blinked, appearing rather uncertain. "Are you…?"

"I'm fine…there was some gas attack, I pulled Vulcan and Hawkins out of it."

"You pulled them out of it?" Damia stepped backward in alarm. "Zero!"

"I'll get into the infirmary in a minute," Zero growled, his patience lost. "But you need to find Caligula, _now_."

"Where's Delates?" Damia asked suddenly.

It was Zero's turn to blink. "I thought he was with you."

"He always goes outside in the mornings," Damia responded quietly.

"I haven't seen him," Zero replied, trying to play it off, though internally he'd just received a blow. He and Damia were suddenly thinking the exact same thing, both trying to ignore the icy feeling it produced. "I'll let you know when I find him."

"Right…" Damia nodded, forcing her fears for Delates aside and walking backward towards the war room. "Zero, really, you should get to—"

"_Go_!" Zero thundered, breaking away from the wall and whirling away from her. Damia sucked in a sharp breath and let him leave, heading to her own destination.

"_Alec_!" Zero roared next, finding the pilot wandering rather aimlessly near the infirmary. "Alec, with me!"

"What do you need?" the pilot asked instantly, walking with Zero in what seemed to be the direction of the 17th Unit's sector of the building.

"I need planes in the air, that's what," Zero responded. "This place is under attack, and—" He started coughing again, clutching at his chest. "Jesus…"

"Zero…" Alec frowned. "You don't look so—"

"Get the planes in the air!" Zero interrupted him angrily, forcing himself to stand upright. "Whoever did this might still be here. You need to find them if they are. What…" Zero squinted at the human. "What are you…?"

"Zero," Alec said evenly, though his face was whitening. "Zero, there's an awful lot of blood coming out of your mouth right now."

The veteran Maverick Hunter blinked slowly, raising his hand to his lips and bringing it away in some disbelief. "No," he whispered. "No, I…" He coughed again, gagged, and spilled most of that blood onto the floor.

Alec recoiled, watching the champion soldier crumple to the floor. "_Zero_!"

A cry of pain escaped Zero's lips; he clutched at his chest and looked helplessly up at Alec. "Help…"

"Shit…" the pilot said, his mind frantic. He moved slowly away from Zero, looking around numbly for someone—anyone—to help. "Shit, not this…anything but _this_…"

Zero pitched forward and vomited blood again. This time he slumped onto his side, groaning as more pain hit him.

Alec Tremont broke into a full run for the infirmary, yelling for help but getting nowhere over the shouts of the doctors. "_Zero's down!_" he finally shouted, and that got their attention sure as hell. "_Zero's down!" _he yelled again, badly startling nearby Hunters outside the infirmary.

"What?" Lifesaver asked, turning to Alec with some disbelief.

"I said get to the corridors," Alec shouted again, hoarse. "I said _Commander Zero is down!!!"_

* * *

_Future Times, July 31_

_BREAKING NEWS—MAVERICK HUNTERS ATTACKED_

_By Roland Duke, Hunter Correspondent_

_TOKYO—Though details are scarce, it does seem that the Maverick Hunters have suffered an assassination attempt at their Tokyo base. Several high-ranking Hunters have been attacked, along with others, although the conditions of the stricken Hunters are at this time completely unknown._

_Reports are circulating that Hunters were attacked almost simultaneously in cities around the world, including London, Beijing, Denver and the old Hunter stronghold of New York. All details are, as previously stated, very scarce, but something is definitely happening in this world. Stay tuned for updates as they come._

* * *

"I'm not upset that other people love you," Alia insisted. "I'm upset that you didn't tell me so I could love you with them."

"Alia, I saved the human race like…four times," X responded tiredly, examining the morning's files. "You didn't think a fan club or two would pop up?"

"I'm your special helper," she responded as they walked. "I'm shocked that you wouldn't tell your special helper that you had fan clubs."

"Alia, do a Google search or something, and you'll find hundreds of Hunter fan clubs."

"Really?"

"Yeah…granted most of them are for Zero, but…"

Alia flashed her best model's pose. "You think _I _have a fan club, X?"

"Well," X replied coolly, scanning something about a Maverick sighting in some obscure corner of the earth. Another dull day, it looked like. "I honestly haven't checked."

"You mean you haven't _started one_?"

"What?"

"X! I'm your _special helper_! I'm hurt."

"'Special' is definitely the word," X said, finally giving into a smirk.

"Oh, you're no fun in the morning," Alia grumped, giving up and looking around. "Hey…something seem off to you?"

"Yeah." X frowned, coming to a standstill. "It's a little too loud for this time of day…"

"It's about to get a lot louder," a voice said from a hallway to the right. X and Alia turned to behold Commander Luna with Kevin Seitz, Caligula's senior spook. "X, there's a situation."

"What's going on?" X asked, even as Luna broke him away from the confused Alia and started leading him in the direction of the war room.

"Some kind of gas attack," Luna continued, her usual lighthearted demeanor replaced by something painfully serious.

"A gas attack?" X asked, incredulously. "On the _base_?"

"Right under our damn noses," Luna replied ominously.

"We've got Unit 8 attempting to quarantine the forest and bring back a sample," Seitz explained. "Whatever it is, it laid up Hawkins and Vulcan of Unit 5."

"How bad?" X asked immediately.

Seitz could only shrug. "I haven't seen them. I can only assume it's bad."

"On the _base?_" X asked again, with some violence. "How the hell did _that_ happen? I mean we have security measures for god's sake! Aren't your people supposed to know about these things, Kevin?"

"We are, and it seems we dropped the ball," the spook replied, clearly wishing he were a real invisible man at that moment.

"Well if that isn't the most reassuring thing that's ever graced my sound receptors!" X folded the morning briefing file under his arm. He figured it'd be pretty useless now. "What do we do now?"

"Last I heard, Signas wants all the commanders gathered in the war room," Luna replied. "Except Alec, who's going to mobilize Steel Wind to scan the base grounds for any more traps."

"Reconnaissance flights," X growled. "Good, let's have recon flights _after _the fact instead of before it. It only defeats the purpose, after all."

"X, being pissed at us isn't going to help right now," Seitz retorted. "We don't know if this attack is over or not, or how many are even in trouble. This just—hello?" he cut himself off to answer his cell phone, falling back a few steps.

"This just what?" X pressed Luna.

The purple-haired commander shrugged helplessly. "This just started like five minutes ago, X. We don't know anything. Zegmann says Zero was acting all nutty this morning, and then they got a message from Vulcan saying he needed help. Next thing anyone knows, Lifesaver's toting bodies."

"Bodies?"

"Well…unmoving figures?" Luna shrugged once more. "Zero went off to find you. I don't know where he got lost to if I found you first…"

"Probably ran off on his own to find the bastards," X shook his head. "Even now after Seraph Castle he's still impulsive as a—"

"Zero won't be doing much running at all for a while," Seitz cut in, waving Luna in another direction. "To the infirmary."

"The infirmary?" X blinked, stopping in his tracks. "Wait…" He focused on the human, a killer chill shooting down his spine. "Kevin, what happened to Zero…?"

* * *

The doors to the medical wing burst open once more, and a new gurney was wheeled in.

"Get him hooked up!" Lifesaver shouted, and a team of doctors swarmed around Zero's writhing form. Unlike Vulcan and Hawkins, Zero was very much conscious, and was strapped to the gurney because he kept clawing at his chest. He continued to choke up blood, and as one doctor cleaned that up two others hastily hooked Zero to a life support system while a third took a blood sample while Lifesaver prepared the internal scanning machine. By now the whole base was up in arms. Word of Zero's affliction had spread like wildfire due to Alec's earlier outburst, and the Tokyo Headquarters was officially in a state of panic. "That idiot! I told him to get in here sooner!"

"He just fell down in the hall," Alec was explaining weakly. "I mean…he didn't look good even when I first saw him outside, but then he just—"

"I've got it," Lifesaver nodded, brushing the human aside. "Get out of here. I don't want anyone coming in contact with these patients unless they absolutely have to."

Alec tilted his head despite the order to leave. "Why…?"

Lifesaver sighed, powering up the scanner and stifling a cough of his own. "Because I don't, all right? Now go do something useful, Commander! Lord knows they'll have a use for you somewhere right now."

Alec took the hint and buggered off, but he didn't go far before he ran into the other commanders—nearly all of them. Signas, Caligula, X, Luna, Archer, Mason and Zegmann had all showed up at the word that Zero had fallen victim to whatever this killer was.

"Keep them out!" Lifesaver ordered, and Ledyard once more moved to complete this task. "Hang in there, Zero," the medic whispered as tranquilizers were administered to the thrashing Hunter. "We're gonna figure out what's wrong with you, come hell or high water…"

"Blood scan negative for foreign traces," a nurse said behind him. "I think it does work through inhalation."

"Process Zero's scan," Lifesaver ordered, moving the scanning equipment.

"Scans are back for Hawkins and Vulcan," Dr. Ledyard announced, pushing a few buttons on the largest computer, calling up a projection. Lifesaver opened his mouth to protest, but the scanned image of Hawkins's interior appeared too quickly. Instinctively Lifesaver sucked in a sharp breath and stepped backwards. "Oh, god…"

A hush fell over the entire medical wing as all eyes were drawn to the projected image. Hawkins appeared to have been, for all intents and purposes, gutted without leaving a scar. His skeleton appeared eroded but in tact…however, his sensitive internals and veins seemed to simply have disappeared. What remained of them were shredded, and his entire chest and abdominal cavities were filled with blood spilled internally.

Lifesaver could easily follow the path the golden gas had taken in its quest to kill the second in command of Unit 5, Maverick Hunters. From what he remembered of the crime scene, Hawkins had been the first to jog past the Pillars, where the canisters had been planted. Likely they had exploded in his face, and he'd been inhaling more than usual anyway due to the fact that he was jogging. From there the gas, which had to be composed of some brutally corrosive airborne chemicals, had traveled down his windpipe, ruining it almost instantaneously and seeping out the holes it made into the rest of Hawkins's body. He'd evidently inhaled enough of the stuff that there was plenty to disintegrate his vital organs. A quick glance at the head revealed that some of the gas had gotten Hawkins's CPU, and, likely, his control chip. If there were any more painful way to die on the earth, Lifesaver would be hard pressed to name it.

A horrible scream from the hallways brought the chief medic back to his senses. He turned to see Archer stagger backwards, and he would have fallen had it not been for Mason's quick reflexes. Seeing what had become of his best friend had not done well for the stricken commander, especially since a similar thing had to have happened to Vulcan.

"Get that off the projector!" Lifesaver snapped acidly. Ledyard blanched, feeling like a total ass, and blacked out the image, handing paper copies to his boss instead with mumbled apologies. Lifesaver snatched them away and scanned them once more, trying to shut out the sound of Archer's ravings in the hall.

"Sir," said a doctor working on Hawkins, gesturing with a defibrillator modified for Reploid use, "he's not responding to charges."

Well, he wouldn't, would he? Lifesaver's eyes drifted to the chest area of Hawkins's scan. The Hunter's generator had ceased functioning because it was full of holes. The gas either wasn't strong enough or there hadn't been enough of it left to entirely eliminate the adaman surrounding Hawkins's generator, but there had been enough to erode parts of it. The generator hadn't exploded because the energy it produced had simply leaked out into Hawkins's body, helping the gas destroy his internal anatomy.

"Sir," the doctor said again, shaking his head in defeat. "I'm sorry, but…"

"Yeah." Lifesaver nodded numbly, looking down at the fallen Hunter. Patches of black dotted Hawkins's bare arms, courtesy of ruptured blood vessels. Lifesaver didn't even want to guess what the chest and stomach looked like. _It's the Plague,_ he realized. _The Plague…in this brave new world, it's the goddamn Black Plague…_

"Time of death, 8:05," the doctor attending Hawkins said with an air of stupefied finality. Lifesaver could sympathize. Ten minutes ago this had been a normal day. He turned away from Hawkins as the other doctor pulled a sheet over his head, to the horror of the spectators watching through the windows outside. Lifesaver refused to make eye contact with any of them, least of all Archer.

"Sir," Ledyard broke the silence. "We have Vulcan's scan, too. They're working on him now…"

"Save it for a moment," Lifesaver interrupted, heading towards Zero's doctors. "Get him into surgery with Vulcan, now. Don't bother waiting for the scan—get a replacement trachea in here and get the old one out."

"You're sure?" Carlton asked, taking charge of Zero's medical detail.

Lifesaver nodded. "He didn't inhale as much as the others, even if he did go right into the thick of it like the idiot blonde that he is. The fact that all he's doing is coughing up blood and grabbing at his chest while still remaining rather alive leads me to believe that his only problem is a shitass windpipe."

Ledyard raised an eyebrow as his fellow doctors wheeled Zero towards the surgical part of the medical wing. "His _only _problem?"

Lifesaver shrugged helplessly. "One finds optimism where one can." He took Vulcan's file and scanned it briefly, immediately letting out a sigh of relief. "It's not as bad…"

Ledyard shook his head. "But it's still bad, sir. Multiple internals are ruptured, and his own windpipe is looking rather…shitass, as you called it. Not to mention there may be damage done to his generator."

"Fix it," Lifesaver ordered simply. "I don't want anyone else dying on me today, you hear—" He cut himself off with a harsh cough.

The hairs on the back of Ledyard's neck picked up. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Lifesaver waved it off. "Actually I'm probably not, but I'm not worried at the moment."

"That'd be exactly what the 'idiot blonde' said too."

"Sidney," Lifesaver said patiently, "you and Carlton were there with me. No offense, but you're a hell of a lot weaker than I am. This stuff, if it was powerful enough to eat away adaman, would have dropped you like a sack of bricks there and then. It didn't."

"You also didn't send me in there. You made me wait outside the forest specifically for that reason."

"But we weren't much closer to it than you were," Lifesaver retorted, getting annoyed. "Zero had already taken them out of the biggest cloud of that gas. …Any word from the bosses as to what that gas was?"

Ledyard shook his head. "Not yet. What do we do in the meantime?"

"Pray." Lifesaver gestured towards Vulcan. "What do you think?"

"He's holding up, but frankly, he could die at any second just like that if his generator starts leaking." Ledyard sighed. "The damage isn't as extensive—I think Zero said he found him laying face-down, so that would explain why as much of the stuff didn't get into his system. Also…"

"Also…?"

The human frowned. "For some reason, he shows signs of being conscious…while at the same time he shows the signs of unconsciousness. In his CPU, I mean."

Lifesaver frowned. "Can't you only be one or the other?"

"Yeah, but…apparently not. Maybe he's dreaming?"

"Hardly a textbook medical diagnosis." Lifesaver sighed, waving Ledyard towards the patients. "Help them." His eyes narrowed at the hallway. "I'll go tell them about Hawkins."

"Good luck," Ledyard replied gravely, starting off.

Lifesaver drew himself up, forcing himself to focus. Everything was happening much too quickly for everyone, but it was rare that things didn't move quickly for a surgeon of soldiers, and Lifesaver was better able to handle it than most of the other Hunters. Hoping this would give him the edge he needed, he left the safety of his infirmary to go tell Archer that his best friend was dead.

* * *

Vulcan wouldn't exactly have described himself as dreaming, had he been given the chance. It was a bit…more than a dream. He definitely wasn't in Tokyo, but he couldn't exactly pinpoint how he knew that. Everything was spinning around him. He couldn't quite remember what had just happened, or why he was here…wherever 'here' was.

And then his vision focused, and there he was in the middle of a war zone.

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," he whispered to himself, drawing his beam saber and ducking behind some burning debris. He looked around, but curiously enough while he seemed to see his enemies, they couldn't seem to see him. Also, even though he could see everyone clearly, the fighting seemed to be going on far, far away. Gunshots fired from figures ten feet from him seemed to echo from a faraway dimension. "What is this…?" he wondered aloud.

He was unexpectedly answered by a voice that was unknown to him. It was deep and rumbling, possessing tremendous power…but also it seemed to convey an equally impressive amount of wisdom.

"This, Maverick Hunter Vulcan, is war."

Vulcan turned around with a gasp. He leapt backwards, immediately brandishing his saber. "Who the hell are you?"

His stalker grinned with dazzlingly white teeth that seemed to positively glow from a face of obsidian black. The big, sturdy Reploid crossed burly arms over his chest, showing Vulcan a glistening black body lined with gold trimmings and specked with decorative gems. Like most Reploids he was humanoid to a point, walking upright with four limbs, but his face was that of a lion, and his head was framed with a solid gold pharaoh's headdress that spilled down over a chestplate that resembled granite. Silver hair blew in the slight wind behind the creature, but that wasn't the only interesting thing to be seen back there—he had wings. His wings appeared to be made of stone and hardly looked like wings at all, composed of long jagged "feathers" with nothing in between, but Vulcan for some reason had no doubt that this guy could indeed fly. His body was also covered with hieroglyph markings of fluctuating colors, and his eyes emitted a very deep red glow.

"Sheathe your twig of a sword," the monstrous Reploid said dismissively, "lest I snap it on my knee."

"Who are you?" Vulcan repeated, attempting to look un-intimidated and failing miserably.

The creature smiled again, replying rather cryptically. "My name is already known to you, child."

Vulcan nearly choked. Again he stepped backward sharply, shaking his head. He _did _know the name. But why? Why on _earth_ would he…?

"You are so silent." The winged Reploid's smile faded. "Surely you have questions for me."

"Geode Sphinx," Vulcan finally pronounced the name, his eyes betraying his utter confusion. "What…what is this place? What do you want with me?"

Geode calmly unfolded his arms and gestured eastwards. "There is someone who desires an audience with you," he rumbled, his voice like the ageless stone he appeared to be fashioned out of. "This way."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Vulcan replied shakily, determined to hold his ground. "There's nothing you can tell me there that you can't tell me here!"

The sphinx laughed softly, which in his case sounded like distant thunder. "Your resolve is charming, boy. But do not delay further." His red eyes narrowed, and his menacing smile returned.

"This is not someone you want to keep waiting for long."

* * *

The lonely caravan of Hunter commanders marched back to the war room quietly. Four commanders were not present—Alec had called Bale earlier and put planes in the air, and was now heading back to Sakimoto Airfield to check on their progress; Archer had retreated to his chambers to be alone for a few minutes; Damia was still taking care of the Wormswood quarantine; and Zero was a bit busy fighting for his life.

Signas, Caligula, X, Luna, Douglas, Zegmann and Mason marched somberly into the war room, a big meeting room sporting codeword clearance mainframes. Some sat, others stood quietly. Signas finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Everyone on this base is panicking." He spoke calmly, though he lacked the force that the other commanders had gotten used to from him. "That's mostly my fault for not cutting off access to the infirmary."

Zegmann raised an arm, then let it fall nervelessly. "There was a lot going on, and it all just happened…"

"I know." Signas crossed his arms behind his back and breathed deeply, collecting his thoughts. "X, I need you to get moving around the base. You're the biggest hero this place has—it's up to you to raise morale. I know you'd rather eat coals, but…"

"Don't worry about it." X rose from the seat he'd taken, leaving the briefing file there that he should have been covering right now with the commanders. _And here we were going to spend the day worrying about random Maverick sightings!_

"Thank you." Signas turned to Mason. "How is he, you think?"

Mason shrugged very slightly. "I've known Archer a long time, and I can't even guess. I think he learned to control grief after Raine, but…"

Another silence permeated the room. Raine was a Huntress who'd fallen to Maverick brigands in between the first and second wars. She'd been Archer's lover, and her death had crushed him at first. In time, his devotion to the Hunters merely increased as he became more and more anti-Maverick, while at the same time becoming fiercely loyal to any and all of his men. In addition to being a friend, Hawkins had been Archer's subordinate, and to lose a soldier that prestigious had to be like a slap in the face. It was public insult added to personal injury.

X paused on his way out. "Will he be able to…?"

Mason nodded. "He'll put it aside, and spend most of his time the next few days being really pissed off. If you're going to have him do something, have him console the rest of his men and rally them in support of Vulcan. It'll give his people something to focus on."

Signas nodded. "Give him some time, then tell him that. In the meantime, work with Luna and mobilize your units. You can put them outside, but carefully. I want this base secured. Erich," he said, turning next to Zegmann. "Stick around. I may need your machines to help Damia with the forest, and if not you'll help Mason and Luna."

"What about me?" Douglas asked.

"Get back to the garage, prepare the usual counters for chemical weapons."

"…_Are _there usual counters for chemical weapons?"

"That's what I pay _you _to answer." Signas gestured for the door. "Get to it."

"I wonder if this is what my horoscope meant when it said 'good times are here to stay'," Caligula said tiredly as the commanders filed out.

Zegmann frowned. "You read horoscopes?"

"No."

"What else do we know?" Signas asked, sitting down and resting his head in his hands. "Other than we just lost a lieutenant commander on a morning jog?"

Caligula's arms raised and fell back at his sides much as Zegmann's had earlier on. "Last I spoke to Kevin, Intel had no warnings that something was going to happen. There was increased message traffic for Tokyo, but only slightly, and that's not unusual for Tokyo, given that we're here."

The grand commander nodded without looking up. "What do you think about Zero and Vulcan?"

Caligula blinked. "Lifesaver said—"

"I'm asking you."

The intelligence chief scratched his head. "I don't…well, you saw that scan…" He shook his head. "I'm really not going to call it, sir. Even I'm not that much of a cynic."

"Erich?"

"I'm with the spook," Zegmann replied. "About that forest…the ones you need tracking the gas, shouldn't you send Unit 0 members, too? Those are the guys who usually look for stuff like that, if Unit 8 isn't available."

"It'd be a good job for them," Signas agreed. Then his head snapped up. "Why wasn't there a representative from Unit 0 here…?"

Zegmann shrugged. "Zero's kind of comatose at the moment."

"Delates isn't, is he? Where is he hiding?"

Caligula frowned. "I haven't seen him this morning, come to think of it."

"So we don't know where he is?" Signas rolled his eyes. "The second most capable Hunter unit, and we don't even have a leader for it! If Zero's gonna be out of commission, would _someone _be so kind as to figure out where the hell his lieutenant is lounging about in the middle of a crisis?"

"I'll do it," Zegmann offered, eager to do something. "I'll send him to you if I find him. Call me if you need me."

Signas nodded as Zegmann left. "_My _horoscope said all my hard work was about to pay off," he offered lamely.

"You just can't trust stars nowadays." Caligula took a seat and cracked his neck. "We should have more information very soon."

"Back there, when we first realized what was happening…" Signas shook his head. "Thanks for being on top of things. I shouldn't have frozen up like that."

Caligula let out a long breath. "I froze up too, sir. Everyone did—even Zero. I was just the first to snap back into action. It could have been any of us."

"Still—"

"_Still_, you were built to run an army and to be the best tactician around, which you are. And Cain built _me _to keep things together behind the scenes, which I do." Caligula smiled thinly. "Though I think he wishes he'd made me a bit less paranoid."

"It's your job to be paranoid."

"Fat lot of good it did us," the chief snorted. "A dead lieutenant and two other casualties who could perish at any—"

A sharp knock at the door cut him off. "Enter," Signas ordered, and Damia and Castle passed into the war room. "Finally. What's the deal?"

Castle hung back near the door. Damia appeared somewhat distracted, but didn't explain herself. "The forest is quarantined to the best of our abilities. We could use some of Erich's machinery to put on the finishing touches, but we were able to neutralize most of the gas ourselves."

"You know how to neutralize it?" Signas's eyes widened. "Have you told—"

"The others are giving this report to Douglas and Lifesaver as we speak." Damia folded her hands behind her back, blinking dry eyes.

Caligula frowned. "Are you all right?"

She nodded quickly. "We wore the suits, and I didn't let Everett into the forest. I'm fairly sure we're okay, but I'll have Lifesaver's people take a look later on to make sure."

Signas nodded. "You were saying…?"

"Yeah." Her face darkened. "The gas is called 'Nexnecis'. At least, that's my assumption—the word was carved onto the delivery canisters, like it was some kind of product you buy in a damn store."

"Nexnecis…murder," Caligula translated. "Son of a bitch."

"We don't know exactly what it does," Damia went on, "but judging from our samples it contains a mix of high power acids that someone made airborne. It wouldn't be that hard to make acid airborne…it's the combination that makes Nexnecis so deadly. This stuff is built to eat away at the materials used to fashion most Reploid internals."

"So we have learned," Signas sighed.

"Hawkins is dead," Caligula clarified. "The gas disintegrated most of his internal torso and some of his CPU."

"Dead…?" Damia's voice became very small. "Oh, god…"

"What about the other one?" Castle piped up from his corner.

"Vulcan was in critical condition last we heard," Caligula replied evenly. "So was Zero."

Castle's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "_Zero's_ down, too?"

"That idiot," Damia shook her head. "I _told _him to…"

"Lifesaver thinks he should be able to save Zero," Signas said quickly. "Vulcan is a lot more iffy." The commander's eyes focused again on Damia. "You were saying you neutralized it?"

The guerilla nodded, somewhat distantly, her mind still on Hawkins. "Right. As potent as the mixture is, all three of its elements can be mostly diluted by a dendrydium solution."

"Dendrydium?" Caligula nearly laughed. "The stuff they put in Reploid beer?"

"The stuff that gets us drunk is the stuff that cures Nexnecis," Damia affirmed, herself still struck by the irony. "It's not the only ingredient for a cure, but a dendrydium gas seems to have neutralized a lot of the Nexnecis gas. Problem is, pure dendrydium can be just as nasty to a human as the Nexnecis, so we'll have to dilute that with—"

"Hydrogen," Signas finished. "That'll be easy enough. Cal, call Zegmann and Douglas. Tell them what we just heard." He looked back to Damia. "You think Lifesaver can use dendrydium to our advantage?"

Damia shrugged just as helplessly as every other commander had that morning. "I think the point of something so easily destroyable as Nexnecis is to kill you before you can get your hands on the thing that destroys it."

"I thought so, too." Signas nearly rested his head in his hands again, but suddenly remembered who he was talking to. "Hey…have _you _seen Delates?"

Damia blinked slowly. "He still hasn't shown up?"

Signas blinked back. "I'm sure he's around somewhere…Zegmann is looking for him now," the commander said smoothly, refusing to display his sudden worry before this Huntress. "Take over for him, would you?"

Damia had very little problem with that assignment. She inclined her head to Caligula before leaving, and the Intel chief waved her off as he hung up the phone he used to contact Zegmann. "Go. I won't need you guys for a while yet."

Damia and Castle made their exit. Caligula stood. "Hmph…dendrydium. Well, that's some good news."

"Yes, I suppose it is." Signas rubbed at his tired eyes. It seemed like a full day had passed already. "She doesn't know where Delates is, either."

"Don't jump to conclusions." Caligula shook his head as firmly as he could. "Never ever jump to conclusions…especially in a crisis."

Signas considered this. "…Yeah. But it's still easier said than—oh, what now?" he asked with some annoyance when Kevin Seitz and two members of the Intel staff burst in unannounced.

"Sirs," Seitz said, turning on the television sets in the room, "you have to see this."

"What's going on?" Caligula queried, stepping towards the other two agents. "Volkado, Kalisto…?"

Seitz motioned to the television, which showed images of a burning diner. "Watch and learn."

_ "…the restaurant in question, Alison's Diner, was a favorite of Captain Greaves and his Hunters, but there remains no evidence that this morning's slaughter was anything but unprovoked. The murders of Greaves and his unit, as well as the civilians in the restaurant, coincide with several other attacks on Maverick Hunters that have occurred within the past hour, including a sniper attack in London that killed two Hunter captains, a bombing in Beijing, and an apparent attack on the Tokyo Headquarters itself…"_

"Jesus Christ," Signas breathed. "It's global!"

"How the hell did we not know about this before the press?" Caligula snapped.

"We _did _know," Seitz replied, just as hotly. "We were all a little too busy to notice, that's all." He shoved some files into his boss's hands. "This is what we _do _know, and it's really not much better than what's on TV."

"And that would be…?" Signas asked impatiently.

"The attacks weren't just limited to Tokyo," Seitz summarized. "They include an RPG attack on a research facility in Beijing, the sniping of two Hunter captains in London, the apparent annihilation of a whole rookie unit in Denver along with a lot of civilians, and, if you'll look at the last page…"

Caligula did so. His expression was positively icy. "Commander Zion informs us that twelve of his best guys were involved in a gas attack in a forest. Ten of them are dead, the other two are not expected to survive surgery." The spook looked directly at Signas, who had the same frosty expression on his face. "It's still not over."

"Of course not," Signas fairly growled. "You were right. It _is _him. He _did _declare war." Signas gestured to Seitz, Kalisto and Volkado. "Cal, take your guys and learn absolutely everything you can about this. I want a full briefing in half an hour, preferably much sooner."

"Yes sir." Caligula left with his Invisible Men, leaving Signas alone. The Grand Commander slammed his fists hard on the meeting table, growling an obscenity. Who the hell did Chartreuse think he was to pull this shit? He'd pay for this one.

Signas took a few breaths to get a hold of himself, and then turned on his communicator. "X," he said to the voice at the other end, "we've got more problems."

* * *

"You've had a rather impressive career already, Vulcan."

The silver-armored Hunter glared daggers at the sphinx he was still nervously following. "Just what do you think you know about my career?"

Geode rumbled with laughter, his massive shoulders twitching only slightly. "I know quite a bit. I know that in your young life you have already killed many people, for example."

"Congratulations," Vulcan retorted. "I am a Hunter, you know."

"A Hunter who fought and destroyed many Mavericks on a battlefield much like this one." Geode waved an arm to encompass the burning buildings and gunfire in the streets of this hazy world. "Do you recognize this place?"

Vulcan exhaled slowly. There were plenty of details, but they seemed to be drawn from many points in his memories, not just one in particular. "No. It's just a war zone."

"Yes…the final destination for most soldiers."

"But not all of them," Vulcan said suddenly, a chilling feeling creeping into his stomach. Memories attempted to invade his mind, why he was here, what had happened back in reality, but he made no further progress.

Geode Sphinx narrowed his red optics at the Hunter before him. "You look troubled."

"Tell me why I'm here," Vulcan responded, drawing up his courage to face the beast. "I don't have time for riddles."

"Oh, but you do have time!" Geode said pleasantly. "You have all the time in the world, Vulcan. You just don't realize it yet."

"Tell me why I'm here," Vulcan ordered again, with more force. He still clenched his blue beam saber in his right hand. Geode glanced at it rather dismissively, and again folded his arms over his chest.

"War is many things to many people, Vulcan. To some it is a line of soldiers shooting each other on an open field, and to others it is a guerilla conflict in some jungle." He tilted his head, indicating the surrounding environment. "To you, it's this—a confused jumble of chaotic memories that paints a picture of something untamed and unsophisticated." He flashed his brilliant smile once more. "We believe you have the wrong idea."

"War is hell," Vulcan summarized, waving around at the burning world. "And this is a pretty good representation of it."

"You hate war," Geode continued, as though Vulcan hadn't spoken. "You hate and fear it, but for the wrong reasons."

"How can there be a _wrong _reason to hate something this monstrous?"

"There are many wrong reasons. The first is fear. Too many people fear war because it threatens the stability of the social order." Geode chuckled. "To their credit, these cowards acted correctly by worshipping war. Time after time it has been revered as a god or as an otherworldly force…Greeks and Romans had their war gods, and the Christian Bible personifies war as one of the Four Horsemen that will one day destroy the world." The sphinx's smile became something almost whimsical. "I guess you could say I'm one of the Horseman's four horsemen."

"Here to end the world?" Vulcan countered. He'd tried to sound bored, but at this point emotion was pretty much lost to anxiety.

"No, not to end the _world_." Geode straightened up, lowering his arms and gesturing to the Hunter. "As I stated, many fear war for its capability to destroy a social order. And I think you and I both know, child, that the current social order is rather flawed."

"So you want to destroy the social order? You're anarchists, then?"

"Anarchists!" Geode Sphinx roared the word as though wounded. "You misunderstand gravely, Hunter. New laws will replace the old. It always happens. You see, that is the virtue of war—it is the bane of complacency, and complacency is the bane of progress."

"If you ask me," Vulcan said carefully, "war brings forth destruction. And destruction is kind of the bane of progress too, don't you think?"

"I think of things in the long term. You're trapped in the present. But not for long."

Something caused Vulcan to shudder at that last statement. "Not for long…?"

Geode gestured forward. "Come…he is waiting for you. Then you will learn what you really need to know."

* * *

"He's stabilizing again."

"Good," Dr. Carlton replied to the nurse, not taking his eyes off his work. Vulcan was now going into his second hour of surgery. The vanquished Hunter was opened up on the operating table, lost in a sea of tranquilizers and his own mental shutdown as Ledyard and Carlton finished transplanting the irreparable vitals Nexnecis had managed to destroy. Vulcan had just suffered a little episode in which his generator's functions increased inexplicably, accelerating bodily functions and pumping blood faster than the doctors liked, since many veins still needed repairing. It was an episode like this that could kill Vulcan, even after the diciest parts of the surgery were completed.

"So what were you gonna do today?" Carlton asked lamely, clamping a vein and completing installation of the new trachea.

"Teach med students at Yoshita," Ledyard replied, just as casually, helping with the transplant while two nurses bustled around them seeing to monitors and the life support machine that was supplying the power to Vulcan's generator. "You?"

"Paperwork." Carlton finished and let out a long breath, standing straight up and cracking his back. "So, in a way, all this was…"

"Yeah," Ledyard agreed, and that was the end of that bit of dark irony.

"How's he doing?" Lifesaver cut in, walking over from where he'd been monitoring Zero's operation.

"We've moved past the transplants," Carlton summarized. "So far there doesn't seem to be any problems synchronizing the new vitals with his CPU. Now there comes the tricky part."

"The smaller repairs," Lifesaver nodded heavily, pausing to cough into his hand. "Any problems…?"

"Just a little hiccup in the generator," Ledyard announced. "We stabilized it, but…"

"A generator hiccup could kill him, like that," Carlton said darkly, snapping his fingers.

"Right." Lifesaver drew a hand across his forehead, appearing very tired. "How did the cocktail work?"

"Like a miracle," Carlton said reverently. "What the hell was in it?"

"Well, you know about the dendrydium," Lifesaver replied. "Douglas noted that dendrydium shares a lot of characteristics with molybdenum, and throw in a few other things and you've got a viable cure to Nexnecis."

"I guess the hard part is taking the cure fast enough," Ledyard mused.

"You suppose correctly," Lifesaver agreed. "A shame we didn't figure this out in time to help Zion's people."

"Another gas attack?" Carlton raised an eyebrow. "I heard there were a few more attacks, but are they all Nexnecis?"

"No, just this one." Lifesaver shook his head. "Twelve of Zion's best are dead, also thanks to a forest trap."

"All twelve died?" Ledyard asked incredulously.

Lifesaver nodded. The three doctors looked back at Vulcan with a new form of reverence. If they could keep this kid alive, it'd be quite an accomplishment.

"How's Zero?" Carlton finally asked.

"I think he's out of the woods." Lifesaver gestured towards the slumbering Hunter, while doctors and orderlies bustled around tending to him. "The old windpipe is gone and the new one is in. Like we suspected, there isn't much damage outside the trachea, though his lungs need some work. Reploids don't really _have _to breathe, so I'm not really worried about him dying on us before we can fully fix him." The medical chief gestured towards Vulcan. "Don't lose this one, you hear me? Archer's got enough on his mind as it is."

Ledyard and Carlton nodded. As Lifesaver walked away, the two doctors began the painstaking repairs of Vulcan's blood vessels and the minor injuries on some vitals. "Hear that, kid?" Ledyard mumbled as he worked. "If you die, we'll kill you."

* * *

Alec arrived back at the infirmary right about the time Lifesaver was presenting the new news about Vulcan to those gathered in the waiting room. It wasn't even noon yet, but the day already seemed to have lasted forever. Alec didn't exactly expect a blazing sun, either—Mustafa's eclipse had blocked out the solar giant as planned, casting a dismal dark glow over the planet as the sun rose to its throne at the top of the sky. To the pilot, it seemed like a hideous omen, considering the circumstances.

For one thing, he was very shaken about the fact that someone had managed to plant a lethal trap on their own base. What if it had been, say, a nuke in a suitcase instead of gas? This incident meant to Alec that it was currently feasible for someone to simply swim onto the beach, run into the forest, set down a black box, swim away, and the next morning, boom, no more Tokyo Hunter base. Seraph Castle had raised the bar to nukes, and Alec could no longer expect Mavericks to stick to conventional weapons.

There was also the matter of the other attacks. Twelve elite Hunters were dead in New York. Nine rookies and their captain had been eliminated in Denver, along with eight civilians. Two other captains had fallen in London, and there were seven dead in Beijing from the RPG attacks. Finally, and most importantly to him, one global lieutenant commander was dead in Tokyo and his subordinate was hanging in the balance, along with one of the most respected Reploids to ever walk the earth.

Alec was particularly interested in the fact that the victims shared no common link other than the fact that they were, mostly, all Maverick Hunters. There was no discriminating by rank—rookies and experts were gone, young and old, privates and generals, all taken out in mass murders. And infuriatingly, no one at any of the crime scenes seemed able to track any of the suspects.

Alec had no delusions about catching the assholes who'd set the Nexnecis trap in Tokyo. Whoever they were, they'd come and gone completely under the radar and hadn't even left a hint of a clue. They would go free, unless they got caught in some unrelated incident. It hardly seemed fair, but what could you do?

All he could do, he knew, was help his friends.

The pilot entered the waiting room and found, as expected, Krysta and Rykov sitting quietly in a corner. Krysta rose as soon as she saw him, drifting across the room into his arms in a very quiet embrace. "How are you holding up?" he asked, patting her back as reassuringly as he knew how.

"I'll be fine," she replied, very unconvincingly. Her voice indicated clearly that she'd spent the last hour with tears in her eyes. "How about you…?"

"I'm not worried about me," the human replied calmly, releasing her and wiping away a tear on her cheek. "I'm more worried about you guys."

Krysta forced herself to smile a little, letting Alec pass her and quietly embrace the standing Rykov. "How did this happen?" the big Reploid asked, in a very slight voice.

Alec couldn't help but flinch. Hawkins and Vulcan were Rykov's best friends. To have both of his closest companions knocked out of commission at the same time would be catastrophic for him. "I don't know. No one knows."

"They can't do this," Rykov insisted, shaking his head and clenching his fists. "They can't just walk into our homes and kill our friends…we can't let them…"

"They'll pay for this," Alec promised him, surprised at the force in his words. He quickly realized as he looked at his shaken friends that he fully intended to destroy whoever had done this, or whoever had ordered this done. A desire for revenge had never burned this strongly within him before, and the desire hit all at once, at this moment. It made him reel slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. "I mean it."

Rykov saw the fire in his friend's eyes, nodding assent. "I want to help."

"No, no," Alec said quickly. "You need to stay here…you and Krysta need to be there for him when he wakes up. …How is he?"

Krysta's smile took on some actual hope. "Lifesaver just told us he's doing a lot better. They found a way to get rid of all the acid, and they're done with the…with the transplants," she finished, shivering.

Rykov gathered the girl in a one-armed hug, looking past her to Alec. "He's still in a bad situation, pal. But it's looking a lot better than it did earlier."

Alec nodded. "Anyone seen Archer…?"

"He's been here," Krysta affirmed. "He went to the war room to help Signas." She lowered her already quiet voice another notch. "Alec…do _you _think he'll…?"

Alec looked both his friends in the eyes, showing them the kind of steely resolve many of the Hunters had been lacking that day. "Guys, your friend survived a shredding on a train in motion, followed by a brutal war and the psychological effects that followed it. There is no way he is going to let himself be beaten by some cheap booby trap in his jogging path."

The way he delivered the statement seemed to leave no doubt. Rykov remained motionless and expressionless, though in his eyes he acknowledged his friend's words. Krysta wiped fresh tears away and quietly mouthed her thanks.

And at that moment, the Monty Python theme song broke out in the telltale beeps of a ringing cell phone.

"Well that ruined the moment," Alec said with a half-smile, flipping on his device and turning away from his friends for a second. "It's me…what do you need?" He listened for a few seconds, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You're _serious_…? Right…I'll be right there!" He replaced the phone and looked to his confused friends. "I'm needed in the war room. You guys gonna be all right?"

"We'll be fine," Rykov assured him, and he sounded a little more convincing. "But what's that about…? More bad news?"

Alec actually laughed. "Ry, this may be the best news we've had in months."

* * *

X found Alia sitting alone on a couch in the 17th unit's common room. The blonde Huntress was staring into a television set across the room, though her eyes seemed distant. X crossed over to her, glancing at the news story reporting no new developments in the ongoing investigations into the global attacks on the Maverick Hunters. "Looks like a rerun."

Alia blinked, shaken out of her daze by the sound of his voice. "Oh, X." She stood quickly, appearing flustered. "You…do you need something?"

"Nah, I'm fine…"

"Are you sure?"

"Alia, settle down," X said, moved to a smile. He gently pushed on her shoulder and she reclaimed her seat. X rested next to her, gesturing towards the television. "Anything new?"

"No," Alia replied, turning the volume down from its already quiet setting. "They just say the same things…no leads, no developments, just…just a lot of…" She seemed a little breathless. "It just seems so bad," she added with a shiver.

"Alia…" X gathered her into a tight hug. "It's pretty much over now…it's okay."

"No, it's not okay," she retorted, her body shaking with sudden sobs that prompted her commander to hold her tighter. "I knew Hawkins…I even know Vulcan a little, and Zero…"

"I know," X said quietly, feeling a sadness welling up inside him for the first time that day. It was strange, he thought, that it had taken him until this moment to feel grief over Hawkins's death, since Hawkins had in fact been a decent friend to X. "I know how you feel…"

The dispatcher shook her head, looking up at her commander through her short blonde locks. "You don't…god, X, it's different for us…"

"What do you mean…?" he asked, letting her pull back a little.

Alia took a breath, trying to articulate better. "Me, Shadin, Scylla…the rest of your lieutenants, all Zero's people…you and he have done so much for us. For either of you to be…"

"Alia, Zero is going to make a full recovery," X said forcefully, taking her gently by the shoulders. "And we're going to get the people who did this to him."

"How?"

X smirked. "Have you ever known me to be inefficient at hunting Mavericks?"

Alia smiled sadly. "They're not Mavericks this time, X…there's probably humans involved."

"Then we'll bring them to justice as well."

At any other moment that sentence would have chilled Alia, especially coming from X. But now it seemed to, of all things, reassure her. She gave her boss one more quick hug. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"So am I," X replied with a grin, looking down at her. "Ready to get back to work?"

Alia nodded, wiping her tears off her face in some embarrassment. "I'm ready. I'm helping Seitz get together a list of passengers who used local airports yesterday."

"I see. I'm gonna be advising Signas most of the day, and then—"

Alia blinked. "X?"

"I've got a communication," X explained, answering his internal radio. "Yeah, it's me. …All right, I'll be right down." He cut the connection and looked to Alia, somewhat tiredly. "They want me in the war room again."

Alia, however, was suddenly paying a lot more attention to the television. "Yeah, X," she agreed, turning up the volume and speaking barely above a whisper. "And I bet I know why."

* * *

"Wormswood is as secure as it's going to get," the big Reploid was saying. "God himself could come down and Erich would deny him entrance."

"Erich always did strike me as the kind to tempt omnipotent beings," Damia replied blandly, relaxing against a doorframe, though 'relax' was a term used loosely today. Around them in the lounge, Hunters milled about slowly and without much purpose. This was a new experience for them—they'd been rather brutally attacked, but they had no one to strike back against just yet. Tensions were running far too high for the guerilla commander's liking.

She shook her head slowly, returning her attention to the Reploid next to her. "Worried about the gas, Waffles?"

He shook his head. "We've sprayed the forest with more of that dendrydium cocktail than I think is healthy for the vegetation, and we'll do it again every day for a week for good measure. Even then I don't think Erich will let anyone in." His name wasn't really 'Waffles'. He'd been christened Remington, constructed rather like Signas—appearing to be decked out in a military uniform, only it was black rather than Signas's navy blue, lined with gold trim and a few red sparklies. As Erich Zegmann's lieutenant, he'd helped create the nickname "Mr. Pancake" for his boss, due to the fact that Zegmann was prone to using his personal ride armor to flatten enemies. However the nickname game bit him in the ass when, after flattening his own share of enemies, Remington too became worthy of an epithet, and since pancake was taken he became known as "The Waffler".

Damia sighed, standing straight up and arching her back in a luxurious stretch. She wanted rather badly to fall asleep on the nice couch in the corner, but sleep wouldn't be an option for at least eight more hours, and only then if she was lucky. She guessed this would be a long night. "Hell of a wake up call, eh?"

"You said it." Remington frowned, glancing to the aimless Hunters wandering the lounge. "These kids need something to focus on soon, or things are gonna get even uglier."

"There aren't any leads," Damia said with some frustration. "Almost four hours now and there haven't been any leads. By the time we find one, the bastards will be safe."

"So we'll retaliate against the nearest Serpent installation we can find and let Units 5 and 0 take their revenge. We've gotta find _someone _to punish for this…and if we don't hurry, I'm afraid we'll be the ones who get thrashed." He glanced to the clock, and then threw Damia a salute. "Break's over. I'll catch you around."

The guerilla nodded. "Base is secure?"

"Totally," Remington reassured her again. "We've combed every inch of our property and there aren't any other booby traps laying around. Don't worry about anything other than catching these guys."

_Would that it were so easy…_ "Right. Thanks."

Damia turned away from the disappearing lieutenant and performed her own analysis of the assembled Hunters. The Waffler had been right—they were either scared shitless or bubbling over with anxiety or anger. Damia wanted more than anything to be able to say "Here's the bad guy, go kill him" but that information just wasn't there.

Her eyes drifted towards the south entrance to the lounge, where an interesting character had just wandered in. He looked rather like a half-drowned cat; with unevaporated water still dripping from his body, and seaweed was tangled in his hair. Also he seemed to be bleeding from the forehead. To the present Hunters he must have looked like a cousin of the Loch Ness, but even in his disheveled state Damia recognized him instantly, and every bit of apprehension the day had inflicted upon her evaporated in a blaze of relief.

"Delates!"

The drenched Hunter looked up, blinking at the figure rushing towards him. "Oh, thank God," he said, rather relieved himself as he embraced her tightly. "I didn't know if you were…"

"Where _were _you?" Damia asked fiercely, looking him over. "What happened to you…Jesus, Del, you're bleeding!"

"It's nothing…"

"The hell it's nothing. What happened?"

"Eh…" Delates winced, scratching the back of his neck, appearing more embarrassed than Damia had ever seen him. "Apparently Poseidon got sick of my bullshit?"

His girlfriend's face went blank. "Delates, don't ask me to engage in complex thought today."

"Yeah…can I sit down?" Loch Ness stumbled towards the couch with Damia's guidance. The guerilla commander then scooped up some tissues from a nearby dispenser and took a seat next to her paramour. "Thanks…" Delates said, wincing as she wiped away the blood flowing from the nasty cut on his forehead.

"How did you pull this one off?" she demanded, mustering enough energy to be irritated.

"I…it was something out of a bad fanfiction, or something," Delates protested lamely. "I was at the beach, doing my thing…"

"'Obey me, ocean, for I am your master'?"

"Yeah, that." He flinched when she wiped the blood off the wound itself. "I sat down at the Throne, just as the biggest goddamn wave I've ever seen came crashing down onto the beach."

Damia frowned. "A wave?"

"I told you it was stupid," Delates said, failing in his efforts not to flush red. "It hit me by surprise…stopped breathing when I saw it. It cracked my head against one of the Throne's rocks and washed me clear off the side of the chair itself. Apparently I've been laying face down in sand for a few hours." He grimaced, holding the bloodied tissue against the cut himself. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but how was _your _day?"

Damia's voice dropped to something that sounded very defeated. "Vulcan and Hawkins were attacked."

"_They're _the ones?" Delates's face went slack.

She nodded. "There was a chemical weapon planted on their jogging path…someone watched them and learned their routine, and then…" She swallowed hard, like X feeling remorse now that things had settled down. "Hawkins died. Vulcan is in critical condition. Zero got messed up when he dragged the two of them out of the forest, but he's stable now."

Delates blinked a few times, shaking his head in slow disbelief. "I just saw them," he whispered. "I saw them both not five minutes before they went into that forest…there's no way…dead?"

Damia's face grew even more sullen. "It doesn't end there…we took hits in Denver, New York, Beijing and London. There were Hunter casualties all around the world this morning." She lowered her eyes, resting a shaking hand on his leg. "I didn't know what to think when I couldn't find you…"

"Damia…"

"They _watched them_, Del. Whoever killed Hawkins was watching him beforehand. You go down to the beach almost every morning…I thought…"

"I'm here," he said firmly, draping his free arm around her shoulder tightly. "And so are you. We're still alive." He kissed her forehead gently, and then looked right in her eyes. "Don't you ever lose hope, you hear me? No matter how bad it looks, don't _ever _count me out."

Damia met his eyes and nodded. "I know…it just…all happened so fast."

"Tell me about it," he murmured, wincing as his forehead began to throb again. "Do we know who did this to us yet?"

She shook her head. "We aren't getting any good information from the sites."

"So why don't we look for ourselves?"

That was worth a double take. "Excuse me?"

Delates shrugged. To him it seemed obvious. "We're the best Hunters on Earth. Why are we waiting for some lesser detectives to figure these crimes out?"

Damia frowned. It seemed odd that no one had considered that yet. She was about to reply, but a sudden whoop of excitement from across the room startled her. The other Hunters in the room had been so quiet she'd forgotten they were there, but this sudden activity seemed so unlike them. "What happened?" she wondered aloud, standing with Delates.

"Commander!" a rookie near the lounge's large television declared, sounding very happy. "They got him!"

"Who got who what now?" Delates asked, puzzled, following Damia to the front of the room, where the breaking news report was more audible:

_"…was apprehended near the First Anglican Orphanage in Grantham, England by a team of Maverick Hunters led by Commander Virgil Arcanus, apparently after he and his accomplice, Julian Rosen, attempted to rid themselves of their child hostages, who had become more a liability than an asset. London Hunter Commander Michael Jameson was available for comment:_

_'The citizens of all the world can rest easy tonight with the knowledge that one of the most brutal, dangerous men alive is in custody at last. The Maverick Hunters took some damage today, but it is clear through successes like this one that we will not be so easily defeated. Commander Virgil and his team of fine detectives are praised for a job very well done.'_

_Interrogations are scheduled to begin immediately, with the hopes that Azarias will have some information regarding the deadly attacks on Hunters across the globe this morning. Once more, the Serpent operative Wildcard Azarias has been captured with his accomplice Julian Rosen in Grantham, England, and no hostage casualties are reported."_

* * *

"No hostage casualties!" X was exclaiming, triumphantly pumping his fist. "Wildcard Azarias was just _owned_!"

"Nah, that's just starting," said Alec. "Once Jameson's people get through with him, Azarias will wish Virgil had killed him back there."

"No doubt the thought crossed our detective's mind," Zegmann opined, sitting down and squinting at an Intel report on the matter.

"What did we miss?" Damia asked as she and Delates entered the room.

"Well, you—" X paused, narrowing his eyes at Delates. "Where the hell have _you _been?"

"I fell in the toilet," Delates said with a straight face, still lamely clutching Kleenex to his reddened forehead.

"…Okay, well, I'll leave it at that," X said, shaking his head sharply to clear the image. "Zero's gonna be fine, by the way. Lifesaver said they replaced his windpipe and took care of a few other minor repairs, and he'll be conscious in an hour or so."

"Well thank Light for that," Zero's lieutenant replied with some relief. "So what about Azarias?"

"Virgil caught Azarias and his fellow kidnapper escaping from an orphanage in Grantham," Caligula piped up from his perch at the far end of the war room's long table. "Apparently Wildcard couldn't keep tabs on the children and figured he'd throw off the authorities by ditching them while they were still alive."

"How are they?" Commander Luna asked.

"Scared to death but unharmed," Caligula replied. "Virgil had his bodyguard incapacitate Azarias and he arrested the son of a bitch himself. Rosen didn't put up a fight."

"Just like that?" Luna asked, impressed.

Caligula actually smirked. "You ever seen Virgil's bodyguard? He's patterned after a giant gargoyle, and he casts a hell of a shadow."

"So we finally have some good news," Signas summarized, clapping his hands and gesturing to his subordinates. "Jameson is going to try to get everything he can out of Azarias as soon as possible to see if we can't track any of the people who attacked us this morning. X, Damia, Delates, Erich, Alec, Luna, Mason, I want us to be more visible. I want people to know that the Hunters _aren't_ daunted."

Caligula's communicator went off. "What is it, Kevin?" he asked quietly, turning away from the conversation.

"What about Archer?" X asked.

"Archer's fine," Signas replied coolly. "At least, he's as fine as can be expected. He's with his unit now, waiting on Vulcan's scenario."

"Commander," Caligula interrupted them suddenly, "there's someone who'd like to talk on the speakerphone."

"Is it Jackson again?" Signas queried, annoyed. "If that bastard thinks he's fooling anybody with his 'greatest sympathies for our loss'…"

"Commander," Caligula said again, "I've got Virgil Arcanus on the line. He'd like to talk to us."

Pretty much everyone in the room blinked and stepped back in unison. "Virgil?" Signas asked, frowning. "Not Jameson?"

"Virgil," Caligula said again.

"Put him on," X suggested.

Signas nodded and Caligula gave the order. A second later a crackling sound filled the room as the signal was established. "Can you hear me, Virgil?" Signas finally spoke.

"You sound like you have a smile on your face, old friend."

The voice that had replied fit the image of Virgil they all had in their minds to a T. It was an old voice, gravelly and heavy, and perhaps even grandfatherly. It carried a light British accent and conveyed both authority and a strong essence of intellect. If there was a more fitting voice for an old detective, none of the Hunter commanders had ever heard it.

"It's the first smile of the day, Virgil," Signas responded. "And we have you to thank for it."

"Ah, yes…who all is the 'we' that I'm speaking to?"

"We've got X, Luna, Damia, Delates, Erich Zegmann, Alec Tremont, Mason and Caligula."

"Caligula…I imagine you've had twelve kinds of aneurysms throughout the course of the day?"

"Something like that," the Intel chief replied with half a smile.

"I gotta say, you lived up to your title, Sherlock Virgil," X spoke up. "I never thought for a minute Wildcard Azarias would be caught without losing some of the children."

"'Act as though ye have faith, and faith shall be given to you,'" Virgil said in reply. "For my part, I never thought for a minute you'd all still be hanging around your headquarters."

"What do you mean?" X asked.

"The Maverick Hunters were attacked in several cities today." Virgil's voice became heavy. "Jameson was right—your leaders need to show themselves to prove they are not afraid."

"I was thinking the same thing," Delates said. "And I just gained consciousness. What was up with _you _guys?"

"Hey," X fired back, "you apparently spent the morning in a toilet, so let's save the blame game for a another time."

"The saddest part is, it's not far from the truth," Damia mumbled to Luna, who just shook her head.

"We were getting to that, detective," Signas assured him. "In fact you just interrupted my speech."

"I'm terribly sorry." Virgil's voice took on the hint of a smile. "I know how much your subordinates must enjoy hearing you speak."

"You bet they do," Signas replied, raising an eyebrow that just dared one of them to comment.

"Hah…well, I'm calling to rescue at least one of you." Virgil cleared his throat. "Signas, with your permission…X, I'd like to invite you to come to London."

The Azure Hunter tilted his head. "…What?"

"Come to London," Virgil elaborated, "and help with the interrogation of the criminals we apprehended today."

"What…now?"

"Yes, now. We've all agreed that you need to be visible, and appearing at Scotland Yard to question the enemy is a good way to prove to the other Hunters that you're not taking this lightly."

"He has a point," Caligula put in.

"X," Signas asked pointedly, "is Jasper up to speed on all this?"

"I can bring him up to speed," Caligula answered for X.

"Well then." The Grand Commander nodded at the hesitant veteran. "Don't keep him waiting."

"Uh…" X laughed and scratched his head. "Well…okay, I guess."

"You can get the coordinates from Caligula," Virgil informed him. "The sooner Azarias sees _you_ standing before him, the sooner he'll sing." The detective paused, switching targets from one to all. "This is a new kind of battle for us. But if you learn anything from today, learn that mistakes are going to happen. Don't dwell on them."

"That's decent advice," Signas agreed. "Thank you, Virgil, and congratulations again."

"Thank _you_, sir, and good luck."

The line broke. X frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "So where exactly am I going…?"

"Talk to me in a minute," Caligula replied, scribbling down notes from a private communication.

"On that note," Signas regained control of the conversation, gesturing to Damia, "I want Unit 8 to head to Denver right away."

Damia raised a brow. "Why, exactly?"

"Commander Moor is new," Signas explained. "Take a look around, see if you can find anything he missed. Mainly it's for visibility. I'd send Unit 0, but Del, you look like crap. Plus I'd rather not send the leadership of both Units 0 and 17 out of the building at the same time right now."

Damia nodded. "I'll get my people together. We'll be gone in twenty."

"Make it ten," Signas ordered. "Every minute puts more distance between the perps and the crime scenes." Damia nodded assent and left. Delates followed her after getting a nod of assent from Signas, who then glanced at the others. "The rest of you keep the base up and moving. We're gonna go on patrol tonight and if anyone dares raise a finger against us, they're gonna wish they hadn't."

Throughout the last of the conversation Caligula's scribbling had become more and more frantic. Finally he slammed his pen on the table and bolted to his feet. "Sir, the infirmary," was all he said, and he stormed out of the war room.

The remaining commanders looked at each other for a few seconds, their relatively high spirits dissolving into confusion, and finally back to an oh-god-what-now attitude, and one by one they filed out after the intelligence chief.

* * *

"Generator function is normal, blood flow unimpaired!"

"It's not the blood flow," Lifesaver said, feeling rather pathetic as doctors helped him onto a gurney. "It'll be the damn windpipe…" The medical chief coughed again, emitting a light spray of blood. "It's all windpipes today…"

Caligula burst through the infirmary doors. "What the hell happened?"

"Sir, Lifesaver inhaled some of the gas in the forest during the initial rescue," Dr. Carlton said, approaching the spymaster. "His symptoms grew progressively worse as the day went on, until…"

"I'm fine," Lifesaver protested loudly, waving Caligula off. "This is just what I get for smoking too much."

"You don't smoke at all," Caligula replied, approaching the medic. "Dammit, Lifesaver, how did you not fix yourself before this? The same thing happened to Zero that's happening to you!"

"Damage isn't as bad," Dr. Ledyard announced, looking at Lifesaver's internal scan. "I think we can repair it without a transplant.

"Well isn't this my lucky day," Lifesaver grouched, breaking off into another racking cough.

"What happened?" Signas asked, barging in with X.

Caligula stepped back, feeling his head spin. "Crap…Carlton, who else came in contact with that gas?"

"I did," the medic admitted. "I scanned myself as soon as Lifesaver collapsed. I'm pretty sure traces of the stuff remain."

"Can it spread from you to someone else?"

Carlton blinked as though struck. "I…I don't know."

"X, Signas, get out," Caligula ordered, ushering the two of them towards the door and patching through to his subordinates. "Kevin, get a quarantine team down here. I want this infirmary sealed off! No one gets in unless they're dying, understand?" He gestured to Carlton. "Get all these docs scanned. Who else came in contact?"

"Unit 8 explored the scene, as did Unit 15," X said from the doorway.

"Where's 8?"

"They're on their way out."

"Someone find them," Signas ordered. "Make sure they take a dose of that cocktail with them. You too, X."

Alec stood outside and watched in alarm as, in front of his eyes, the medical wing of Hunter Headquarters was placed under quarantine due to a chemical agent that might be passed between Reploids. The day just got better and better.

"It's like the plague," Zegmann said, standing next to him.

"It is a plague," Alec agreed, watching Caligula work. "God only knows how far it's gonna spread now…"

* * *

"Where are you taking me?"

The words were no longer delivered with determined curiosity. Now Vulcan just sounded frightened.

Geode Sphinx flashed his radiant smile, continuing forward without looking back at his silver-armored shadow. "So now the images around you have begun to solidify into something real…something you know. Good. It means we've arrived."

"Arrived where…?" Vulcan asked, but his words were whispers. He already knew where he was. All around he saw things that by rights no one should ever have been forced to see in the first place. He was standing amidst a ruined section of a city, where the burning tops of broken buildings lay strewn about in the streets. Civilians of all age and race were busy pulling the dead and wounded from the debris.

But when they saw Vulcan, they stopped. They stood and they stepped back, their eyes penetrating the Hunter's body and going straight to his soul. _Where were you,_ their eyes asked? _Why weren't you here to stop this_? So intense was their gaze that Vulcan found it hard to believe that so many could blame a single person for such a complex act of destruction, but then he remembered that they weren't just looking at him—there had been many Hunters then, all of them marching in a line under a winter sky lit up only by flames and the white wind of a mountain snowstorm, which itself was partially obstructed by a nuclear mushroom cloud.

"Megacity 5," Vulcan breathed. "Just like it was that day…"

"Yes," Geode nodded. "Everything is the same as it was on the day that the Mavericks ended centuries of nuclear abstinence and broke the power of the Megacity Army."

Vulcan's breaths came slower as he took in the scenery. It had been such a terrible day. The world had woken up to the sound of a nuclear detonation, followed by the Maverick occupation of the city. The enemy had crushed or immobilized all local Army bases, and with the bulk of the Hunter army in the Catskills, the Headquarters had been ripe for the picking. After punching a hole into the formerly mighty building with a missile that failed to go nuclear, the Mavericks conquered it, driving Signas and a few other refugees outside, where they ran for their lives to the cover of a nearby destroyed roadway.

Then the Hunters returned, and the little war grew all the more deadly. A terrible aerial battle brought down the enemy flagship _Gallagher_, but at the expense of many buildings and lord knew how many lives. The Hunters, with Vulcan in their ranks, had proceeded to drive back and defeat the Maverick 'Frontline' unit, though Vulcan, Hawkins and a group of other Hunters from his Unit 5 had broken off from the main team to rescue Hunters pinned down in a slag pit. They'd been able to clear out the Mavericks harassing their friends, but then…then Vulcan's very soul was scarred by what happened next.

"Your memories show you fragments of a doomed world," Geode was saying. "In time these fragments will represent the whole. But that is not for me to explain…" The sphinx lifted a finger that had started to glow yellow. Vulcan opened his mouth to protest, but then, before his very eyes, Geode traced a golden hieroglyph in the thin air. "Now go," the behemoth ordered with finality. "He awaits you here."

"What…where? What are you—"

Before Vulcan could finish the hieroglyph flared with electrical energies, smashing into Vulcan with a force he could not quite describe. He cried out in shock rather than pain, feeling himself arching through the air before the world around him went blindingly white.

* * *

**Alison's Diner **

**Denver**

"I don't envy you the job, sir. This place is pretty grim."

As she said the words Damia cast her gaze over the bloody scene that a few hours ago had been a happy casual dining restaurant. The bodies had by now been removed, both Hunter and civilian, but the Huntress could still see the bloody patches of ground where the victims had previously lain. The whole thing struck Damia as something out of a sick movie—five guys with heavy machine guns mowing down an unarmored group of people without any inkling of regret. If it _were _a movie Damia would have called it bad writing. She expected villains to have more depth than that.

"It's almost as grim as the amount of evidence we've found," Commander Moor replied, standing beside her. He was a feline Reploid, a very astute looking cat in gold armor with the fur coloration of a tiger-tabby. Though relatively young, he'd attained the rank of local commander, and oversaw all Hunter operations in the Colorado area. Captain Greaves had been a personal friend of his.

"Wanna run it by me again?" Damia asked, feigning helpfulness. "Maybe you'll remember something new?"

"I've given up on that," Moor replied with a snort. "But all right. Okay, we didn't find anything on the scene except some rubble from where the adaman bullets either missed or went through the targets, striking the walls of the building. Took out some nasty chunks, as you can see."

"I do," she agreed, wincing involuntarily.

Moor raked his clawed hands across the back of his head, as though willing his brain to think harder. "These guys did a pretty good job silencing most of those present, but there were still some eyewitnesses. They describe three humans and two Reploids as the culprits, and one of the Reploids was sky blue in coloration, a little taller than average. The diner's proprietor's are being questioned, but I don't think they had anything to do with it." The Denver commander shrugged. "We've posted guys in every airport around and they're screening, but nothing has come of it. We're pretty sure they wouldn't be stupid enough to teleport, and in any case humans couldn't do that anyway, so we're thinking that they're gonna board a flight." He shrugged again. "But we don't have any descriptions of the humans, other than they're three males, one with a beard."

"That does sound grim," Damia conceded. Her gaze turned to where a particularly heavy spot of blood stained the tile floor. "I'm sorry about Greaves."

Moor nodded slowly, clenching his fists. "They just came in here like…my god, Commander, you didn't see the bodies."

The guerilla offered him a sympathetic look. "We lost one in Tokyo…the Unit 5 lieutenant commander."

"I heard," Moor said, returning the gesture. "I'm sorry about that."

"He had his insides neutralized by an airborne chemical agent."

The cat shuddered. "We have to get these people. I mean, we have to really _get _them."

"Tell me about it," Damia agreed, glancing up to meet Castle's eye. "Excuse me a second…"

"Sure," Moor nodded, resuming his accepted routine of pacing around the diner, wondering what the hell was wrong with this world he lived in, pausing to take a call on his communicator. Damia meanwhile crossed the room to where Castle, Acrystos and Dantz had finished their search of the building.

"Nothing new," Castle said, throwing up his hands. "But we didn't really expect anything anyway."

"How did they coordinate this, is what I'm wondering," Acrystos mused aloud. "They had all the attacks happen at the same time…that means they had to have known when Hawkins tripped the Nexnecis in Tokyo."

"A control cell, you mean," Damia summarized. "I think so, too…probably there was a remote trigger installed in the canisters in Wormswood. Hawkins was, in effect, the go-order for all these other killings."

"Sons of bitches," Dantz opined, rather poetically. Both his comrades nodded whole-heartedly.

"Commander Damia!" Moor said suddenly, re-approaching her while clearly fielding a call via radio. "I think we may have something after all. Tune to this frequency," he ordered, giving them the proper number.

Damia's lips pressed together in concentration. "Does this mean…?"

"It was in the collected body parts," Moor explained feverishly. "A piece of an arm was found…we thought it was one of ours at first, but apparently…"

"Apparently that chunk of arm contained the Reploid's radio unit," Dantz said with a big grin, receiving the same information.

"Because he just got a call," Castle finished, laughing aloud in dark irony. "But where from, now that is the question."

"Are you tracing this?" Damia asked hurriedly.

"Of course, of course," Moor replied while listening. "All messages are being transferred directly to Caligula, as per Signas's orders. But…I'm being told that the message seems to be coming from a mountainous region in Montana."

"Any of your boys on vacation out there?" Castle asked pointedly.

Moor shook his head firmly. "Which likely means the arm belongs to one of the enemy. So we're looking for a sky blue Reploid and another Reploid with a wounded arm."

"What good does this really do us?" Acrystos asked skeptically. "It's been almost six hours since the attacks. They'll have flown away by now."

"You ever flown by shuttle transport?" Damia asked with a snicker. "Sure they're fast when they get going, but it's the get-go that's the problem."

"Add to that the fact that the Hunters have been requiring added security checks, and you've got delays up the ass," Castle added.

Acrystos frowned deeply. "You're putting a lot of faith in the fact that they had trouble getting off the ground."

"Well in a case like this we go with what we have," Damia decided, turning to Moor. "Have your guys check all the skyports and airfields in Colorado for delayed flights to anywhere in Montana, and update the description of the attackers."

"You getting this?" Moor asked his guy on the other end of the line. He received an affirmative in reply, and nodded at Damia. "What's next?"

"Let's get back to the local base and give them a hand," she suggested. "Unit 8 will be ready to head to the scene as soon as we get a good feeling. If any of you want to tag along, be ready to move very soon. Every second we waste…"

"…Is another step closer to freedom for the bastards who did this," Moor finished, gesturing towards the door. "All of you!" he ordered to the men still on scene. "Return to base and suit up! We've got some new information and we may have to act on it any minute now. With any luck, we can send the message to Kou Cao right now that you do _not _mess with the Maverick Hunters without losing the tongue you gloat with!"

* * *

It was quiet in the waiting room.

Alec sat in a chair on the end of a row. He had an old magazine in his hands, but he had yet to actually look at it. His eyes were riveted on the east wall, behind which he knew surgeries were still taking place to save lives. He could picture the doctors walking around in their gas masks, performing their grim tasks with the knowledge that they'd be stuck in the infirmary far longer than any of them wanted to be while they—and the infirmary itself—were decontaminated. Signas had long since kicked out the human doctors, and they served primarily as messengers for the Reploid doctors who weren't allowed to leave. Alec's gaze occasionally drifted to the door, willing it to open, willing someone to be at the other end with good news. It had yet to happen.

"What's a five letter word for ice cream, candy, etcetera…?"

Alec turned to Delates, seated next to him with old crossword in hand. "Depends…what's it start with?"

"Dunno."

"Haven't found it yet…?"

"No, just…I don't know."

The pilot frowned, catching a glimpse of the puzzle. "Someone filled them all in already…! What's the point of…?"

"You can do the puzzle again," Delates insisted, wincing as his bandaged forehead attacked with a forceful throb. "You just have to look at the clues without looking at the puzzle."

Alec gave Zero's second a very long inspection. "The word is treat."

"But you looked!"

"Of course I looked, that's how you do a crossword, you get letters from other words and you use them to help you find the other ones!"

Delates's growl dissolved into a sigh, and he tossed the puzzle onto the nearby table in defeat. "Yeah…I suppose so." The special operative, still looking mightily disheveled after his battle with the ocean, followed Alec's eyes to the wall. "How do you think they're doing in there?"

"Dunno."

"Haven't heard a report recently…?"

"No, just…I don't know."

Delates frowned, completing the cycle. "You know, excess worrying isn't going to help them any. It'll just give you gray hairs."

Alec glanced to another corner of the room. Archer was sitting quietly with his head in his hands, which apparently he'd been doing a lot of since the tragedy began in the morning. Next to him, Rykov was staring dully at the floor with one arm around Krysta, who appeared to have dozed off.

"Worrying is about all I can do right now," the pilot said, redirecting his attention at Delates. "Why not do a good job of it?"

"'Cuz it'll do a good job on you," the emerald Hunter replied. "You can destroy yourself worrying about things you can't control. Zero, Vulcan, Lifesaver…they'll make it or they won't. It's up to them."

"Well aren't you Mr. Optimist."

"Actually, you're talking to one of the biggest optimists on the base when it comes to this stuff," Delates replied with a friendly smile. "I came home from Seraph Castle to find Damia broken to bits and near death. She shouldn't have recovered, physically or mentally, but she did." His green eyes became filled with an almost devout resolve. "You would be amazed just how strong we really are, Alec. Simply amazed..."

That took Alec by surprise. The words were short and simple, but he had never heard Delates talk with that resolve before. The pilot sat up straight in his seat and let out a long breath, feeling his apprehensions loosening their hold on his mind. "Yeah…I suppose so." He half-turned his head towards Delates, smiling lightly. "She was pretty worried about you today."

"I suppose I can't blame her…" He shook his head slowly. "I'd have thought the same thing if it had been me." He glanced towards the human. "What about Ravenna? She freaking out?"

"I've called her a few times," Alec replied with a nod. "She was pretty shaken up. Apparently word has leaked from the HQ that Zero was attacked…" He laughed once, rather harshly. "That's my own dumbass fault."

"Oh, give yourself a break…"

"I shouted the information at the top of my lungs. It's hard to explain that away."

"Well if you hadn't shouted, you might not have gotten Lifesaver's attention in time, and my boss would be dead." Delates looked hard at him. "This is a new kind of war we're fighting. We can't lose sight of the big picture. We can't punish ourselves for the little things, because trust me, there's gonna be quite a lot of little things popping up to punish ourselves for."

"Again, your optimism is like a shining beacon of hope," the pilot replied, sighing. "They called it the plague, Delates. Like the bubonic plague. It even gives you spots."

Delates shrugged. "The bubonic plague is nothing in today's world, and this is just as easily defeated, or so I hear. We just have to be ready for it, now that we know what it does." He leaned back in his chair and, of all things to do, he laughed. "Damn…"

Alec's lips curled into a curious frown. "What's so funny…?"

"Oh, 'funny' isn't the word for it at all," Delates replied, though he was snickering lightly anyway. "It's just…well, a random memory. You know that song, the one kids sing, 'Ring Around the Rosie'?"

Alec called forth a very obscure memory of early childhood. "Sort of, yeah…what about it?"

"They used to think," Delates explained, hesitating as though in disbelief that he was having this conversation but continuing anyway, "they used to think the song was about the bubonic plague."

Alec laughed too, completely despite himself. "Whaaat?"

"The theory makes enough sense… 'Ring around the rosie', well, like you said, you get spots, red or reddish black. 'A pocket full of posies', they used posies and other flowers in potions to try and ward off the plague. 'Ashes, ashes'…eventually they wouldn't even touch the bodies for burial, and would just burn them. And finally…"

"… 'We all fall down,'" Alec finished. "That one's self-explanatory."

"Yeah…" Delates shook his head again, smiling vaguely. "I think they've since disproved that theory…but still, a bunch of little kids singing merrily about death and destruction?"

"That's sick," Alec declared, smirking involuntarily at the thought, a thought he couldn't seem to banish from his mind. "And it pisses me off that I find it funny…"

"Well what did I say about worrying about what you can't control? It even ruins your sense of humor."

Alec quietly pondered senses of humor for a few seconds. Then he looked back to Delates with an even wider smirk. "A wave, Delates?"

The Reploid's face darkened. "Go choke on something."

Alec laughed, but before he could offer a riposte the door opened to reveal Dr. Sidney Ledyard, who immediately commanded everyone's attention. The human looked rather tired, which was to be expected. Alec felt a twinge of pity for the doctors still operating. "Delates," the doctor said, stepping towards Unit 0's acting commander. "I'm going to want you to stand by."

Delates blinked slowly. "Gonna tell me why…?"

Ledyard actually smiled. "Zero's going to be waking up soon, and he'll probably be bitching for someone to give orders to."

The special operative just rolled his eyes. "Just when I was starting to miss him, too."

"How is Vulcan?" Alec asked, knowing Archer and the others were paying attention.

Ledyard's smile faded, but not entirely. "There isn't much of a change, though we've repaired most of his internals. It's just a matter of getting his new parts in sync with the old ones while keeping the generator stable. Give it a little longer."

Alec nodded, glancing to where Archer, Rykov and the awakened Krysta were sitting quietly. "Thanks…"

"Hey," Delates said as he stood, looking straight at Alec. "Remember what I said."

"Yeah." Alec nodded. "I will."

Delates nodded back and left with Ledyard. Alec looked at Archer, who replied with a very slow nod. The pilot's eyes then fell on the crossword puzzle Delates had discarded. "Damn him…" Alec growled, scooping the puzzle off the table and glancing at the clues, attempting to feel dignified.

"Four letter word for fortune…"

* * *

Darkness abound. That had been the first hint that something was wrong.

Throughout his career, Zero had been treated to the services of the infirmary on many occasions, and almost always his first reaction upon regaining consciousness was to bitch about the lights being too bright.

No lights. Nothing to bitch at. Something wasn't right.

Well, actually there were some lights, but they didn't do much good. Zero's optics had only now become adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out the domed marble ceiling above him from which four decorative lantern lamps hung, like the kind you'd find in a church. The chamber itself reminded Zero of a place of worship, though he couldn't imagine what was worshipped here. There even seemed to be an altar in the distance, and when Zero finally felt sure enough of himself he left his cover behind a large Corinthian column to approach the center of the chamber.

He didn't wholly remember how he'd gotten here. He did remember that there had been some kind of attack at the HQ, and then he'd fallen to the attack himself. Aside from that all he knew was that his steps had been wobbily at first, and his throat and chest felt very cold. After his third step a new sensation struck him—pain. His chest, while cold, seemed to burn, and he crumpled to his knees with a groan that echoed throughout the dome of black marble.

A sound from the far end of the chamber attracted Zero's attention. He held his breath, gritting his teeth against the pain and trying not to make further noise. For some reason it didn't occur to him to switch on his infrared scanning, or to even reach for his lightsaber. He just stared forward, able to make out nothing but a table of some sorts.

He glanced down next, and his frown deepened. There was a large symbol on the floor in the center of the chamber…at first it took Zero a while to figure it out, but after a few blinks he recognized what appeared to be a DNA helix. But rather than being composed of the usual representative orbs, the helix was composed of strands of what appeared to be…pictures? Zero squinted harder, and yes, there were rows of three different kinds of pictures—artistically drawn death's heads, swords and embers.

His head snapped up when he heard another noise from the front of the room. It was soft, short…vocal. A sob?

"Who's there?" Zero called out, summoning his courage and standing. His eyes clearly made out an altar of sorts at the far end of the room, surrounded by extinguished candles. Kneeling before it was a figure cloaked in dark garments. Whoever or whatever it was, it didn't respond to Zero's call. The Hunter approached cautiously, watching the cloak tremble and hearing noises similar to the first. This person was crying. From the sound of the voice, it was a female. "Hey…" Zero tried again, laying a hand on her shoulder while keeping the other hand free to defend himself, just in case. "I'm not going to hurt you…what's wrong? Who are you…?"

As soon as his hand touched her shoulder, the figure's trembling seemed to increase. The head of the cloak twitched slightly towards him, and an arm rose slowly. From it emerged a robotic hand, uncovered by skin, that pressed on top of Zero's with cold firmness. Zero drew a sharp breath, and subsequently emitted a sharp cry when the head snapped around to reveal a woman's shredded face, flaps of skin hanging like tattered leather, one eye gone and the other bloodshot and lidless. Black blood dribbled from her mouth, which was wide open in pain and fear.

"What happened to you?" Zero asked, steeling himself and taking her by the other shoulder, unable to hide the horror in his eyes. But the devastated woman's only response was to stare at him out of her red eye, as though recognizing someone she's never seen before and knowing who he was anyway.

"You…" she said in a voice too young and innocent to belong to so unfortunate a person, "you're…original…"

"What's that?" Zero asked, leaning closer to her and holding her upright in what he hoped was a gentle manner. "Do you know me…?"

Her breath began to come heavily, and a frantic look crept into her remaining optic. She surged forward suddenly, taking Zero totally off guard and spilling him onto the floor. Stripped steel fingers grasped at his throat, and he beheld a torn face filled with black hate. "You…your fault…_all your fault_!"

Zero just stared at her, totally paralyzed by her words and actions. Then there came a sharp _crack_ from the far side of the room, near the Corinthian pillar, and a beam of flaming white light struck the vanquished woman, snapping her head back and throwing her off Zero. She lay on the floor and clawed at her face as the white energy coursed over her figure, and finally she lay still, her black cloak flowing over her body.

"What are you doing talking to strangers?" asked Zero's rescuer blandly, lowering her still-glowing right hand and stepping out of the shadows.

"_Iris_?" Zero shot to his feet, all the events of the last minute catching up at once. "You…what are you doing here? …Where is 'here'? Who was she?"

"Calm down, Zero," Iris all but whispered, stepping past him and staring at the altar. "It's over now…for the most part."

Zero blinked slowly, shaking his head to clear it and focusing on her image. It occurred to him that he'd never seen her in quite this way—she wore her hair free and unbraided, dressed not in casual clothing or her violet armor but in a flowing white dress…or it could be called a robe, Zero supposed. What also occurred to him was that her presence here confirmed the obvious supposition that this wasn't reality…but nor was it really a dream either, he knew. He'd only been in this exact state once before, right after beating Sigma and encountering… 'Him'…for the first time.

"What's over, Iris?" he asked, a powerful sense of foreboding seizing him. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Her words came somewhat sharper than usual. She turned her head from the altar to gaze back at him, and he could tell she was annoyed. "Let me sum it up, dear. You woke up to the sight and sound of the entity that wants you pulverized more than anything in the world talking to you and goading you on. And what did you do?" She turned full around, raising her arms in desperation. "You rushed outside and went _exactly _where he wanted you to go and did _exactly _what he wanted you to do. And now…" Her arms fell helplessly. "Your body's laying on a gurney with a new windpipe after a rather close call, and you're here because…well, because you are."

Memories reached his mind as quickly as the words reached his ears—the forest, the golden gas…Vulcan, face down in the dirt, trembling in agony…Hawkins, sprawled out between the Pillars, clutching weakly at his throat, his eyes nearly popping out of his head expressing a greater pain than most would ever know…and Alec, rushing for help as Zero fell to the floor choking on his own blood.

Almost as soon as he recalled the memories another wave of pain hit him, crumpling him to his knees with a sudden cry. Iris's anger evaporated somewhat and she rushed next to him, kneeling and taking his shoulders. "Are you all right…?"

"What's…wrong with me?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"It's just the aftereffects," she assured him, her airy voice soothing his frenzied mind. "It'll pass soon," she promised, brushing a stray blond lock from his face.

Zero's mind was indeed frenzied. The exactness of Iris's words had hit him hard. He _had _done exactly what Gemeines Gehirn had wanted him to do. He'd blindly rushed into danger, and then…

"Damn it, Zero…" Iris sighed, shaking her head and looking him in the eyes. "I can't protect you from everything…you're not supposed to die, but you still _can_ die."

"I…I know," he whispered, lowering his head as though slapped. "I'm…I'm sorry, Iris…god…"

"It's all right," she whispered back, embracing him. The shiver that shot through his body told Iris volumes about just how unnerved the metal warrior was. "It's all right, Zero…"

"Of all the enemies on earth," he said, still unable to steel his nerves, "he's the only one I fear…"

Iris nodded, understanding perfectly. Zero fought battles without fear for anything except not completing his mission, and the mission was almost always accomplished by defeating an enemy. Fear for personal safety had never really been an issue for him, perfectly evidenced by his self-destruction to save X. What did frighten him was a being that could manifest itself into any physical entity it so chose. What frightened him was an enemy that could do what Sigma had never been able to do—lead Zero into the battles against friends and self that would mean the death of his soul.

"He's alive, then…?" Zero finally asked her.

Iris nodded, releasing him from the embrace and helping him to stand. She smiled sadly at him through a veil of brown hair spilling onto white-garbed shoulders. "We hurt him badly two years ago…but he still exists, yes. And he must be gaining power again, if he was able to contact you…"

"Where is he?"

She shook her head. "I…don't know that. Not yet."

Zero nodded in acceptance of that grim fact. Then his eyes caught sight of the nearby black cloak lying on the floor. "Iris…what was she?"

The spirit of the British Reploid shook her head with pity. "She is a representative, Zero."

"A representative? Of what?"

"Of a great atrocity…" Iris's eyes had become misty. She walked slowly towards the cloak, still shaking her head sadly. "An atrocity that continues to this day. And soon…" She picked up the cloak—nothing was left underneath. "Soon, all the evidence will have vanished. Just like she did."

"An atrocity…?" Zero blinked slowly, approaching her warily as though he expected the cloak to fly out and smother him at any minute. "What kind of atrocity?"

Iris blinked away a tear, lovingly folding the cloak like a soldier would fold a flag. "There are enemies every bit as malevolent as the Mavericks out there, Zero," she whispered without looking at him. "Humans do not have their hands clean in these wars."

"No," Zero agreed, just as quietly. "No they do not."

Iris turned to him, finishing her work on the cloak without looking at it. She inclined her head to the helix in the center of the floor. "The skull, the sword and the flame…a most unholy trinity." Her voice became much more forceful. "You have met representatives of the skull already, Zero."

The blond Hunter nodded, images of Seraph Castle flashing through his mind. "And her? That poor woman…?"

Iris pressed her hand against the folded garment in her arms. "She…was a representative of the flame. She…no, all of them…they need your help."

"She called me the original," Zero pointed out. "What did she mean…?" His eyes narrowed when Iris did not answer. "There's only one thing that comes to my mind, and it…tell me it's not that."

"You'll understand soon," Iris whispered. "Very soon…"

"And the third?" Zero gestured towards one of the rows of swords making up a strand of the helix. "Who are the representatives of the sword?"

Iris just shook her head, tendrils of brown floating across her delicate face. "That is X's mystery. As for you…you will know a sword when you meet one." She clutched the black garment to her chest. "But for now…help her."

The supposed entrance to the black marble chamber began to resonate, as though daylight were spilling in. Zero looked to Iris, who stepped forward and pressed the cloak into his arms. Almost immediately Zero felt an incredible surge of emotions, all of them bad. He felt the fear, the anger and the hopelessness of the altar woman, and even though he didn't know what had happened to her he did know he had to find out.

"Iris…what's happening in the world? What is all this…?"

"The same things that have been happening for years…the same things that caused four wars and several other uprisings. And I think you know who wants to continue making use of these injustices…don't you?"

"I will stop him," Zero promised her as the light grew brighter. "I'll find a way…I won't make this mistake again."

"I know…" Iris replied with a smile, hugging him tightly. "And always remember…of all enemies on earth…you're the only one _he _fears."

Zero took the comment with a smile, kissing her once and forcing himself to step away. "The attack wasn't set for me."

"No," she agreed. "Your friends will tell you everything that has happened."

He nodded, looking her over one last time. Then he turned and left the haunting chamber behind him, feeling his senses adapting to the conscious world.

Behind him, Iris let out a worried sigh. A large shadow passed over the altar behind her, and a male figure stepped forward, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder. "You're sure about this…?"

Iris's head fell slightly. "It's the only way."

"We don't know this is Chartreuse's goal."

"Yes we do." Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the helix. "It's the same thing, over and over…and it has to stop."

"The more we learned about them, Iris, the harder they tried to destroy us. Isn't it a risk to set the Hunters up against them…?"

Her response was a derisive laugh. "If the humans want to attack the only ones keeping them alive, let them doom themselves. We don't exactly owe them any better." Her voice fell, sounding sad once more. "Besides…they're going to do it anyway…it's already started. And I'm not letting them take any more innocents with them."

The second figure considered this for a few seconds.. "You trust him?" he finally asked, very quietly, as the light at the entrance of the chamber faded.

Iris closed her eyes, redirecting them at Zero's exit. Then she answered…in a tone of voice that left no doubt.

* * *

_00563R: You're sure?_

_00563S: It's blocked. They're all blocked! The only thing left is this flight._

_00563R: You're just standing there?_

_00563S: Well what the hell do you expect us to do, Caliph? The Hunters are everywhere and they're pissed!_

_00563R: I don't doubt that they are. Listen to me, Daedalus, you're just one of many travelers being inconvenienced today. That's all there is to it, and that's all the Hunters have to—_

_00563S: That's really fucking easy for you to say, sitting up in fucking Montana in your fucking fortification! You sent us to do a job, and then our getaway breaks down? What the shit is this?_

_00563R: Calm down. No one has harassed you yet, have they?_

_00563S: No but if this isn't tempting fate I don't know what is. A crew from Tokyo is showing up, I heard on the news. Cruz's arm got busted up back there. That's a mark!_

_00563R: Stay calm, goddamn it. If you make a strange move now the game is over._

_00563S: Thanks for the pep talk, asshole. If this is what you call a mission, then you can just get yourself a new hitman!  
00563R: Don't overvalue yourself, Daedalus. Just get the hell out of there._

_00563S: I'd love to. I'll give you a ring when that happens. I hear hell's mighty cold that time of year._

_00563R: Just get the hell back here before it's too late._

"Yahtzee!" Kevin Seitz declared, making about twelve copies of the intercepted communication. "Did you trace it?"

"Rocky Mountain Airfield, other side of Denver," replied Volkado, a red-haired Reploid involved with upper level Intel work. "They should still be there."

"Transmitting coordinates to our guys," said the blue-haired Kalisto. "Patch me through to Commanders Moor and Damia!"

"What's going on?" Caligula asked, rushing over.

"Our blue Reploid is named Daedalus, our wounded Reploid is named Cruz," Seitz said, unable to hide a devious grin. "They're at a small airfield in Denver, still waiting on a delayed escape flight, and Damia should be waiting for a go-order right about now."

"Consider it given," Caligula said. The Invisible Men reacted as though it was a command direct from Signas, which it usually was. "Kevin, how the hell did we do that?"

"Technology is a beautiful thing, boss. We searched for messages using the same frequency as the one we got in the chopped arm at the diner and found one at the airfield. It's to a fellow named Caliph, who appears to have a base in Montana."

"Which is where that first fateful message came from," Caligula finished, a smile creeping onto his features. "She knows to catch them, not kill them, right?"

"Remember who you're dealing with," Seitz reminded him. "Damia knows what she's doing."

"Unit 8 is moving," Kalisto announced. "Moor is taking troops to surround the airfield."

"Good." Caligula tried to imagine the look on Mr. Daedalus's face when Damia cornered him. _This one's for you, Hawkins,_ the chief thought, turning back to Kalisto. "I want constant communication. Someone call Signas, if you haven't already…he's gonna want to see this."

* * *

Vulcan opened his eyes cautiously. He still dared to hope that this time he'd be home at the HQ, where someone could tell him what in the world was happening to him. This time, he told himself, would be the time when everything started making sense.

_Yeah, right._

He was in a depressed area, surrounded on all sides by debris. In the distance he could see highways under fire as distant combatants continued their struggle. "Megacity 5," he said aloud, standing slowly. He was pleased to find that his lightsaber was both lying next to him and still in working condition. "But if that's where I am, then this place is…"

He felt the shudder begin between his shoulders, shooting down his spine and throwing him back to his knees. Yes…yes it was all here…the exact same place where two years ago he'd…

"Aaargh!" Vulcan cried out, clutching at his chest. What was this? Pain? What was happening to him? It came suddenly and without warning, a cold fire burning in his throat down to his lungs…a terribly foreign feeling, like something was inside of him that shouldn't be there.

Then it came—the voice.

It was at once extremely familiar but entirely foreign…a much stronger, much more resonant version of a hated voice. It penetrated Vulcan's pain, giving him an anchor to engrain in the ethereal environment before the pain consumed him.

"Maverick Hunter Vulcan. Enjoying the view?"

Vulcan felt the pain subside. Taking the opportunity he scrambled to his feet, activating his beam saber and following the sound of the voice to its origin…and just as expected, the man was there, perched on top of a disabled but still quite menacing tank.

"_Tetra_!"

Indeed, it was the man Vulcan had faced here two years ago. He sat with his back to Vulcan, and he appeared to be fixing something though Vulcan couldn't quite see what it was. A rich laugh escaped the shabby Reploid's lips, a laugh that rooted Vulcan in place with indecision even though his mind screamed for vengeance.

"Yes, yes I believe that is what you called this man," the tanker agreed cheerfully, still not looking at Vulcan but still apparently giving the Hunter his full attention. "It only makes sense that this is your perception of me…"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Vulcan asked acidly, steadying his hands on his sword. "Come down here and face me, you bastard! This time…this time I won't let you…"

"Let me what?" Tetra asked calmly. "Let me terrify you? Scar you? Humiliate you?" The mirth in his voice was poison. "Vulcan, my boy, you have come very far since this day, two years ago. You are a warrior."

"I am a Maverick Hunter," Vulcan said steely. "And I don't know what this is about…or who you actually are…but I'm sick of this already! Why don't you just get on with it so we can get this over with?"

"Excellent. I like a man who can cut to the chase. Geode was right about you, Vulcan. You have many of the qualities we're looking for."

"You some kind of recruiter?"

Tetra chuckled. "Funny you should say that…"

The Hunter wondered if he should be taking any kind of precautions. Presumably he could rush around the side of the tank and confront his enemy directly but…but something kept him here, something he couldn't yet explain. "The Egyptian weirdo spoke of a 'horseman'. That's you, isn't it?" There was no answer—Tetra just kept on working. "I'm not interested in what you have to offer…I'm happy with my life. I'm not helping you start a war…or…whatever it is you do. So just…just screw off, all right?"

There was a very long silence after this. Even when Tetra responded all he did was twitch his shoulders in merry laughter for a while. "You are a tense child, Vulcan," he said, in between guffaws. "But that is expected, I suppose, from one on the brink of death."

"Death…?" The word stopped Vulcan cold. "What…what are you talking about?"

Tetra kept on chuckling. "You don't remember, do you? Poor boy…it will come as a shock. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Spit it out, you smug son of a bitch!" Vulcan spat, clenching his teeth and trying to calm down.

"I'd watch your mouth, Vulcan," Tetra warned, even as the wind picked up. "After all…I'm the one about to save you from the gold plague."

Before Vulcan could ask what that was, he noticed the gold dust in the wind blowing by. "This…what's this?" He started to turn back to Tetra, but something struck him hard and threw him back to the ground. Crying out, Vulcan scrambled to collect the beam saber that rolled from his fingertips, but he stopped cold when he saw what had hit him—or, more precisely, who.

"Hawkins!"

Vulcan could say no more than the name. His friend, still dressed in his running garb, his black hair flying free, entered the gold air as he turned his head towards his underling. "Vulcan? Vulcan, are you…"

No more words left his mouth. Instead his hands came suddenly to his throat and he staggered, quickly falling to his knees as though struck in the stomach. Vulcan watched his friend begin gagging on blood in a matter of seconds; saw the dark blotches appear on his arms; saw the eyes widen and the mouth fly open to release a horrendous shriek of pain. The cry punched a hole through Vulcan's very soul. It was the sound of a man wallowing in his complete and utter destruction, a man experiencing a pain that defied definition or comparison. Hawkins flopped onto his back like a fish out of water, flailing and clawing at the dusty ground. His cries became short, involuntary bursts of noise that reminded Vulcan of a dying animal more than a wounded Reploid. And his eyes…

…In those eyes Vulcan saw the extinguishing of a spirit.

"Oh, my god," the silver Hunter whispered, even as his own pain returned. "Hawkins, what…no…_no!_" He screamed once in anguish, and again in rage, forcing himself to his feet and waving his weapon at the tank. "Get…get down here, you bastard! I'll kill you! _I'll kill you_!"

The air died around them. Tetra stopped laughing. He took whatever he had been working on and raised it to his head, fastening something in place. When he spoke again it was with a voice that blasted Vulcan back and shook the very world the Hunter was trapped in. The sky, already a dull red, pulsed with fire. Tetra stood, turning around very slowly. "Do not mistake me for some pathetic junkyard tanker, Hunter. I am more than anything you have encountered in your young life." And then Vulcan saw it, as the enemy looked at him from atop his perch.

He was wearing Derringer's face.

Tetra sprang from atop the useless tank, somersaulting through the air and landing elegantly in front of Vulcan, who scrambled backwards like a child running from the bogeyman. He fixed the Hunter with eyes of red, peering from Derringer's empty sockets, the leathery mask clinging perfectly to Tetra's visage. He spoke again with a voice that drowned out the thunder of the virtual world he'd created.

"I am Ares. I am War. And you, Vulcan, will become my avatar, or you will join your friend Hawkins in the vast abyss. Your past life has ended…now I offer you a new future."

The enigmatic figure smiled, and to Vulcan's horror, Derringer's lips curled up as well.

"Tell me, Maverick Hunter…what is your decision?"

* * *

**Rocky Mountain Airfield**

**Denver, Colorado**

"So what did he say?" Cruz was asking, trying to hide his badly bandaged arm as much as possible.

"Caliph?" Daedalus bristled. "The son of a bitch has no idea what he's doing. We're getting on this flight, we're going back to base, we're getting paid and we're never bothering with that asshole again."

"We should get in line," Frederick, a bearded human, opined. "They're gonna be calling the flight soon, and I wanna be first in line."

"You said it," Daedalus agreed grumpily, taking up his suitcase. They'd all ditched their weapons long ago, of course, but it would look odd for the five of them to just be boarding a plane without any luggage, so they all had some clothes packed for appearances. With any luck, Daedalus thought, this would be the end. He could go home and give a toast to Captain Greaves. Yes, the sky blue Reploid thought with a sick grin. That was _exactly _what he'd do when he got home.

He glanced around when the five of them had lined up. They looked fairly casual, decked out in civilian gear to throw off authorities and mixed with about twenty other passengers trying to get home to Montana. Nearby he saw a short young woman walk up to the ticket vendor for his aircab line, but didn't think anything of it. Aside from that he really didn't see anything that worried him.

Maybe, just maybe, he would get away with this after all.

* * *

"Commander Moor," the squad leader said, rushing up to the feline Reploid. "Airfield secured. We've posted troops at all exits, and there really aren't all that many exits to worry about."

Moor nodded. "Good thing this is a fairly small airfield. Damia," he said, contacting the Huntress via internal communications. "Things are turning out fine. Do you want help inside?"

There was a brief pause. Then, "You go in, take a small team with you. Keep them invisible until we sound the alarm. We're getting a visual now."

"So they're there?"

"We think so…Nexus spotted a guy with a bandaged arm. I'm taking a closer look."

"All right…Moor out." He glanced to the squad leader who'd just reported. "Take five of them and follow me. This ends now."

* * *

"We've got problems!"

"What now?" Dr. Carlton asked, his aching head protesting the additional work.

"It's Vulcan," a nearby doctor was saying. "His systems are accelerating!"

"They're _what_?" Carlton asked. He was echoed by Zero and Lifesaver, both of whom were active though under slight sedation, and both wondering if they'd just heard correctly.

"Systems and generator function are accelerating," the doctor repeated. "We're finished with the major repairs, but it takes time for the body systems to adjust. Things can't just accelerate like this and be healthy!"

"Stabilize him," Carlton ordered. "Find a way. What's this…?" The doctor frowned, watching Vulcan's mental readings. "By god…it's still happening."

"What's that, sir?"

Carlton pointed. "He's showing signs of consciousness and unconsciousness at the same time…and they're stronger than ever." He stroked his chin with the pointing finger. "Vulcan…what the _hell _is going on in your little world…?"

* * *

"Get…get away from me…!"

Ares laughed, a booming chuckle that made Geode Sphinx's rumbles seem like the rush of waves on a beach. "Vulcan…look at yourself. You're crawling like an animal."

"You killed _him_ like an animal!" Vulcan declared, trying pitifully to stand while gesturing to where Hawkins lay unmoving in horrific rigor mortis. The pain in his chest was growing, and his legs absolutely refused to solidify into steel again, remaining flimsy as jelly. His balance was off. The world was spinning.

"Me?" The self-proclaimed war god shook his head disapprovingly. "You need to calm down, child. Use the intellect you were gifted with. It was a _gold_ gas…Chartreuse killed your friend. Chartreuse has killed you. Yes," Ares added, smiling with Derringer's face once more. "All that has kept your body functioning until now is my influence. Once I leave…well, who knows how long it will take? Or how painful it will be? Are you sure you want to leave Hawkins unavenged? Leave Rykov alone with his sorrows as his two best friends pass from life? And Krysta…dear Krysta…whatever will she do without you? You have seen it, haven't you? The look in her eyes, whenever you are alone…?"

"Leave her out of this," Vulcan said, finding strength in recollection of his friends. This time he succeeded in standing, looking at Ares with new determination. Then he did indeed use the intellect he'd been gifted with. It was a realization that came suddenly, but it was correct and he knew it. "You haven't been watching me…I'm just a dying Maverick Hunter, and you want a spy…! You want me to join you so I can lead my friends to their deaths!"

"No, Vulcan," Ares replied, almost sadly. "I want you to take part in eternity. I want you to help us usher the next race of Reploids into the world…a world that owes us far more than you could ever begin to imagine." He extended a hand to the Hunter. "Come with me now, Vulcan. Help make the future Reploids were meant to have. Help us take back what the humans have stolen from us." The fierce red eyes behind the mask appeared to almost plead with Vulcan. "Make a world your friends can be proud of."

Vulcan wanted to tell him to screw off, and that Sigma had said the exact same things and turned out to be a major quack. He wanted to say so many things, but there it was before him…a prospect of death larger than any he'd yet experienced. If he said no…if he refused this offer…

But then he looked at Hawkins, and his fears evaporated. The dead Hunter's open eyes pierced Vulcan's apprehensions and called to memory every lesson in loyalty his friend had ever taught him. When he looked back at Ares he saw not life, but something even worse than death. The world Ares wanted was not one his friends would be proud of…that world was the one Vulcan had been building as a Hunter. All manner of emotions caught him at once and he snapped forward, bringing his saber towards Ares's outstretched arm with a hateful cry.

The plea in the red eyes flickered and died. Ares drew back his arm with impossible speed, letting Vulcan pass him by and smashing a fist in between the Hunter's shoulder blades. Vulcan cried out as communication between his upper and lower halves short-circuited slightly. He stumbled and fell hard…into something very wet.

Revulsion shot through the silver Hunter's body, catching his breath in his throat. He knew exactly what—or more precisely, who—he had fallen in. It was happening again…and just like last time he was paralyzed, completely unable to take action as the tanker's hated form stepped forward, an assault rifle in his hands.

"I think this is the right model, isn't it?" Ares was asking almost conversationally, gesturing to the rifle. "You can tell, can't you? You've seen it often enough in your nightmares."

Vulcan couldn't choke out a reply as Ares stepped up next to him and loaded the weapon nonchalantly. He just laid there, the pain in his chest killing him, his lightsaber still clutched in his left fist but useless in this present situation.

"I do not take well to those foolish enough to reject me," Ares said icily. "But make no mistake. I did not spend this time and effort to recruit you to just walk away now. Your cooperation is helpful…but not necessary. I will have my spy. You will make war, Vulcan, and you will lead your friends to their deaths, as you so eloquently put it."

Ares-Tetra lowered the muzzle of the weapon at Vulcan's chest. "Welcome to the next frontier, child. The last war begins now!"

* * *

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes," Damia replied, gazing intently at the flight schedule behind the attendant. "Do you have any tickets left for the Helena flight?"

"I can check," the attendant replied cautiously, punching in a few numbers on his keyboard. "But we've been pretty backed up all day. Hunters, and all that."

"Yeah, tell me about it," she replied with an understanding smile. While he worked she turned her head and caught a glimpse of Cruz and who she imagined was Daedalus. The glimpse was all she needed. She turned her head the other way with a casual sigh, communicating internally. "Castle, you're in position?"

"Ready and waiting, chief. We've got weapons set for stun and Nexus will take care of anyone who gets away. Moor's waiting, just in case."

"Good…try not to hit any civilians, all right?"

"Hey, who do you think you're talking to?"

Damia killed communications and smiled at the apologetic attendant. "That's all right. Thanks anyway." She stepped away from the booth, scanning the room as casually as she knew how, focusing briefly on the targets. They were in a good position. She only saw one or two possible escape routes from here and there weren't many civilians around them. She didn't quite know which humans were the right ones, but she figured she'd be able to tell by their reactions to this…and she only had one chance at this.

Damia sent a go-order to Castle and looked right at the target group. In a voice that rose clear above the regular din of the airfield, she called out, "_Daedalus_!"

The response was involuntary—Daedalus's head snapped towards the voice like a sprung mousetrap, betraying his identity instantly. Cruz blinked twice, processing what had just happened, while two nearby humans began to look nervous. The third, Frederick, was already looking for an escape.

A streak of crackling blue energies from Deluge hit Cruz in the chest, stunning him cold. A flash of white light erupted around Damia, and when it faded away she was clad in her sparkling blue and gold armor. "_Everyone get away!_" she shouted as she rushed towards the targets, drawing a laser pistol and shooing the civilians. She brought up the weapon and shot a stunning blast at a human near Cruz who looked guilty. She really hoped she had shot the right person. Public relations were bad enough as things were.

Frederick had broken away from the pack and was racing down a side hallway. He may have gotten away with it if Nexus hadn't seen him make a break for it. A portal appeared at the far end of the hallway and Nexus rushed out, rushing straight for the human. Frederick skidded to a frantic halt and tried to run back the other way but the purple Huntress brought him down in an easy tackle.

Castle, Acrystos and the others had apprehended Cruz and the other two humans, but in a sudden burst of light Daedalus donned his own armor. It wasn't the armor that defied the Hunters, but the fact that Daedalus had boosters on his back—the Serpent operative shot through the air over the Hunters' heads, darting down the aircab terminal. Damia raced after him with Castle close behind.

Nexus reappeared with the subdued Frederick as Dantz and Deluge attempted crowd control. Acrystos fired off a communication to Moor, who appeared with his team to reassure the crowds and keep order. As far as Acrystos could see there were no civilian casualties, which was an unbelievable plus to an otherwise negative day. "All right, let's get this place under control—"

People were screaming again. It wasn't hard to see why. Something split the air near the terminal…two claws, it seemed…claws that pulled apart the sliced air as though they were ripping a hole in reality. Eventually the portal was big enough for someone to pass through, and pass they did—a mantis class Reploid composed almost entirely out of extremely chrome armor with large, flickering red eyes. It landed hard on the floor, scattering nearby civilians. As the portal closed above it, the Reploid turned to fix Acrystos with a curious stare. Then a laugh resonated within its throat and thrusters in its wing pods flared to life, carrying it up and down the terminal after Daedalus and the Hunters.

"Shit!" Acrystos exclaimed, beckoning to Dantz. "Come on! This isn't gonna be good!"

* * *

_"We all made mistakes that day. None of us expected to see a tank roll up out of nowhere. We all froze. We all panicked."_

Vulcan's mind recalled the words…Hawkins's last real lesson. His eyes registered the fiend above him, smiling down as he prepared to corrupt a dying man's soul.

_"Next time…? That's up to you. __It's up to all of us, Vulcan, to defend our friends. 'Cause I don't care what anyone else tells you, your friends are all you got in this world…"_

The image of Hawkins's death replayed in his mind…that undignified, horrendous passing of a good friend and leader…

_ "If anyone dares to come after your friends, you gotta send them to Hell so fast even Satan's surprised to see 'em. Next time someone who looks like Tetra points a gun, what are you gonna do? Stand there and stare?"_

The muzzle of the weapon flashed white. Vulcan's pain magnified as he registered hits in the chest. His mouth flew open and he screamed at the icy feeling that coursed throughout his torso.

_"What are you gonna do…?"_

Ares had never seen anything remotely like it. Even as he pulled the trigger, even as he released what should have been the killing shots into his prey, Vulcan _stood up_, rising through the bullets with a mighty cry of both pain and fury. The warlord's eyes widened as in one fluid motion Vulcan came to his feet and slashed his saber clear through his enemy's torso. Black blood erupted from Ares's assumed body, an arm hanging limply at his side, the rifle clattering uselessly to the ground. Vulcan's war cry doubled in intensity as he lashed the blade across Ares's chest, spinning the warlord through the air and onto the ground very unceremoniously.

"Go to hell," Vulcan seethed, seemingly unconscious of his own badly damaged torso. "Go to hell!"

Ares stared up at the silver Hunter, more surprised than he may ever have been. A curtain of red energies flowed over his stricken form, though his voice was still strong. "So be it…"

The virtual world began to lose its form. Vulcan paid no mind to the blurring ethereal reality around him, focusing solely on the warlord. The energies surrounding Ares flared up and dissolved Tetra's body, and after a blinding red flash nothing remained. Derringer's face fell to the earth, while above the battlefield, in the red sky, Vulcan heard his enemy's voice one last time. "You're strong, Hunter…but one day…I shall personally enjoy…watching you die…!"

Bring it on, Vulcan tried to say, but he could not speak. He gasped in shock and immense pain as his damage registered. He slumped to his knees, and then fell flat on his back, coughing badly and struggling to breathe. His head lolled to the right, and he saw Derringer's face melting into the earth. _Good…rest in peace, old friend…_he thought, feeling curiously at peace himself despite the pain. The world continued to fade before him, becoming brighter and brighter until finally he had to shut his eyes, still breathing in staccato bursts but suddenly unable to move his arms. "Keep him stabilized!" he heard someone shout. "We've almost got it!" came the reply. Familiar voices, he thought, as he felt someone inject something into his arm. The sense of peace was heightened, and Vulcan felt his mind drifting back into a dreaming state, but he wasn't all that afraid of what might be waiting for him. Tetra would no longer haunt his nightmares. He'd shown that son of a bitch who was in charge of his life.

_And you're next, war god…bring it on. Bring it on!_

* * *

The red laser from Daedalus's cannon tore a hole in the dark terminal wall, inspiring Damia to get a move on. She fired twice at Daedalus, nicking him on the foot as he rounded the corner to the closed-off aircab. "Disarm!" Damia shouted, hearing Castle approach behind her. "You're in enough trouble as it is!"

She thought she might have heard Acrystos shouting something behind her, but whatever it was it registered far too late—a blisteringly cold beam of blue energies flew in between her and Castle, slamming both of them against the walls of the thin corridor and dropping their stiffened bodies to the floor. The freezing energy all but encased Daedalus, trapping his legs and one arm in a cage of ice. The operative fell hard to the floor as well, staring up at the approaching menace with eyes widening in horror.

"No…_Mantos_?"

Damia sucked in a sharp breath as the Reploid passed her by, apparently disinterested in the Hunters behind him. "Thy identity unveiled," he said, his voice a cold little rhyme, "thy mission failed."

Daedalus opened his mouth to protest but words never left his throat, largely due to the fact that he ceased to have one. Mantos lashed bladed claw across the cornered operative's neck, separating head from body and kicking the lower half away with a powerful clawed chrome foot. "Oh, my god…" Castle breathed, working his joints back into action. He rushed over to help Damia do the same, even as Acrystos, Dantz and some others approached from behind.

The mantis skewered Daedalus's head like an olive on a toothpick, spreading his mandibles in a twisted insectoid grin. "His control chip you require to quench your vengeful fire," he said knowingly, his eyes twinkling. As he spoke a surge of blue energies washed over the severed head, freezing it in a ball of ice.

"Who the hell are you?" Damia demanded, switching her weapon to kill and leveling it at the enemy's face.

"Mantos is my name, Polar Mantos, one and same!" He even sketched a little bow. "You…Hunters dear, before me here, are the ones known as the Unit 8?" He chuckled lightly. "Give it time, new friends of mine…someday soon we'll have our date."

At that he smashed Daedalus's frozen head on the floor, where it fragmented like a grenade. Damia instinctively fired her weapon, but Mantos had already surrounded himself with spiraling blue rings of energy that shredded a hole in the ceiling of the terminal. The rings closed together, forming a pillar of blue light around the Reploid, and when it thinned and vanished Mantos was gone with it.

"_Damn it_!" Damia raged, kicking the nearest shard of Daedalus's skull. "What else happened back there?"

"Nothing," Acrystos said forcefully. "We've got the others in custody. It's just…"

"Yeah," Damia agreed grouchily, leading the party back to the lobby. "It would be nice to have taken Daedalus. How are the civilians?"

"Doing fine," Acrystos responded, patching into Nexus to make sure.

"Caligula," Damia said, patching into her own contact. "Apprehended four out of five, but we lost the leader. Yeah, there was a complication…"

* * *

**Tokyo Headquarters **

**Three Hours Later**

"…and apparently this mantis executed Daedalus before Damia had a chance to bring him into custody," Caligula was saying, standing on the balcony overhanging the Zen garden.

Signas exhaled slowly, enjoying the comforts of his own quarters. He'd specifically chosen a room with a view. It helped him collect his thoughts. "An agent of Chartreuse, we think?"

"Probably an 'insurance' agent," Caligula agreed. "He was probably tasked with neutralizing any of the global assassins that we got our hands on."

"Polar Mantos," Signas repeated the name, turning it over on his tongue. "Sounds like a Maverick."

"If only it were that easy to identify them," Caligula grumped. "We turned the humans over to the Army after a few questions, and Moor will take care of interrogating Cruz."

"You trust him?"

"Yeah. Greaves was a friend of his. He'll do a job."

"All right." Signas allowed himself the first yawn of the day. "Wow."

"You said it, sir."

"Vulcan is all right?"

"He'll pull through. I'm stopping by the infirmary in a minute to get the final results on the Nexnecis counter serum. Zero and Lifesaver will be okay in a day or two. It'll take Vulcan longer, but he'll recover."

"That's good news." Signas let his eyes drift to the distant forest. Zegmann had left three containment machines there to keep guard and continue the decontamination of the area. It seemed to him like he'd never seen a more sinister forest. "It's been two years since I've been to Hunter's funeral."

Caligula nodded slightly. "Usually the Reploids don't want them."

"Cain wants them. He'll be returning in time for this one, I think."

The Intel chief followed his boss's gaze to the forest, shaking his head. "It could have been worse."

"It could have been a nuke," Signas agreed. "This can't happen again." He glanced to the shorter man. "You know what I'm telling you?"

Caligula exhaled slowly. "You're sure you don't want to talk to X about it first?"

"Without security we don't have a chance. Do what you need to do, Cal."

"Thank you, sir." He paused. "Do you need anything?"

"Yeah," Signas said, redirecting his eyes at the sky. "A time machine."

Caligula nodded almost imperceptibly and left. Signas continued staring at the stars, picturing one of them as his newfound archrival. "All right, you son of a bitch…you want a war?

"Well, you just got one."

* * *

"Turns out the quarantine was unnecessary," X was saying, seated next to the bed. "Nexnecis doesn't travel well from person to person."

"Thank goodness for small miracles," Zero muttered, seated half-upright in his bed. His throat was still cold, but there wasn't much pain to speak of. According to Carlton he'd be back in action in just a day. "So tell me, my friend…what kind of person is Wildcard Azarias?"

"Much less impressive than the name makes him sound," X growled. "He's just a punk, Zero. An asshole punk who got his rocks off hurting kids. Virgil was right, though…one look at my mighty physique and Azarias sang like a canary."

"You're a regular juggernaut, X," Zero said with a straight face. "You think we have enough to pinpoint a base?"

"Several bases. Azarais was a big fish in that organization, remember? Virgil will take care of the rest. Virgil…there's the guy you oughta talk to, Zero. He's even more impressive than the name can tell."

"I'm sure I'll run across him someday." Zero coughed lightly. "Damn…what a day."

"Tell me about it."

"How's Alia holding up?"

X blinked. "She's fine, I suppose…a little shook up, but they all were, I think."

Zero let it go at that. "And Archer?"

X closed his eyes. "Better now that he knows Vulcan's not going to die on him, but still…Hawkins was his best friend. Well, Hawkins and Mason anyway. Mason's been a big help today."

"I bet."

The infirmary was dim. Things had settled down considerably. Carlton and the other Reploid doctors had been cured of any remaining Nexnecis, and the environment had been declared safe enough for public access. Zero saw Caligula enter and head for Lifesaver, who was moving around slowly but surely. Finally the blond Hunter turned to his own best friend and asked the question that had been eating at him for the last three hours. "X…you wouldn't hesitate to kill a Maverick to save someone, right?"

X raised an eyebrow "If there was no other way, sure, I guess. Where did this come from?"

"What if it wasn't a Maverick?"

"You mean a human…?" This prompted a serious frown. "Zero…are you sure you want to be—"

"Gold Serpent's ranks are composed of a lot of humans, X. Three humans were involved in the Denver attacks. One of these days we're going to have to make that decision."

X stared at the floor, turning the question over in his mind. "I honestly don't know, Zero. I don't know."

Zero closed his eyes and nodded with relief, of all things. "Neither do I."

X let the silence carry on another minute before standing. "I've got a few more things to do tonight…you all right?"

"'Course I am, I'm Zero, dammit."

The tone was so inconsistent with the moment that X had to laugh. "Yeah, I suppose you are. Don't fall out of bed."

"Just make sure there's coffee tomorrow morning, or I'll put _you _in a gurney!"

* * *

At the other end of the infirmary, Vulcan lay quietly. Rykov and Alec had left to get some food, Alec for biological reasons and Rykov because he needed something to shred. Krysta, however, remained next to him, clutching his hand in hers and sitting with him quietly. She appeared to have dozed off against the bed frame. Vulcan could hardly blame her. He wasn't much for conversation at the moment.

He kept his eyes leveled at her peaceful face. He could still make out the lines where tears had flown down her cheeks, and if he'd had the strength he'd have involuntarily reached up to brush them away. The ends of her icy blue hair fell onto his shoulder, and even in a light slumber she kept her hand firmly pressed to his.

_"You've seen it, haven't you? The look in her eyes, whenever you are alone…?"_

Ares's words echoed in his mind, and he tried to picture her blue eyes when she'd first came in to see him. She'd been so happy, so relieved…and so sedated. She'd said everything with her eyes, her only physical actions being to embrace him awkwardly and kiss his cheek.

Vulcan looked past the obvious question about Krysta and focused on another one: was she in danger? Was she, or Rykov, or Alec or any other of his friends in danger? Surely Chartreuse wanted them all dead, but whoever this Ares was he had some kind of greater power than an ordinary Reploid. Was something about to happen? And would he be able to protect his friends when it did?

Guided by some unknown force, he redirected his gaze towards the front of the room, where X was exiting. He saw Lifesaver, and beyond him…Caligula.

Vulcan's eyes met those of the intelligence chief and time froze around them. Vulcan did not consciously know what he conveyed in his gaze, but the message burning within him evidently made itself clear. Caligula inclined his head so slightly that it was barely noticeable, but Vulcan saw it nonetheless.

His eyes returned to Krysta, and he tightened his grip on her hand. He would protect her. He would protect all of them. He would no longer stand and stare when his enemies came for him…he would send them to hell so fast Satan would be surprised to see them.

He'd help make the world his friends could be proud of…one way or another.


	7. Two Towers

**Episode 5—Two Towers**__

_August 4_

_It has been a busy week. _

_After the attacks three days ago I gave Caligula permission to implement some new security measures that will allow our Hunter branches around the globe more power in apprehending individuals suspected of plotting against the Maverick Hunters. It's tricky, because while we have a lot of leeway in arresting Reploids we have to be very careful questioning humans, and we have no legal power to take them into custody. It's not a good situation but it's the best we've got. I know X was against these security measures but given recent events I'm inclined to believe we need all the help we can get…_

_Damia's__ apprehension of four Serpent operatives in Denver quickly led to a clear understanding of what happened to the Hunters over there, and may give us some insight into how Chartreuse operates—it seems this 'Daedalus' character, deceased due to a rather enigmatic attack by a mantis robot, worked under a Reploid named 'Caliph' who has a base somewhere in Montana. Local intelligence sources, plus information from Wildcard Azarias, should soon show us the exact location of that base, and then it'll be time to rock and roll._

_I wish I could say it'll be a good day, but it's starting on a terrible note. I haven't buried a Hunter since the Seraph Uprising. This won't be an easy thing to watch…all I can do is try to make sure it doesn't have to happen again._

_--Personal Log, Commander Signas_

* * *

**Battleship _New Liberty_**

**Okinawa Island Base**

The Captain's frown had been set on full power as he read the brief report, and it showed no signs of softening any time soon. "This is confirmed?"

"Yes." Commander Rachel Clarke, executive officer of one of the Megacity Navy's prized battleships, ran a hand through her head of short black hair, unable to decide if it made more sense to feel glad or annoyed. "Intel picked up several key transmissions to this shipyard near Niigata in previous weeks, and today we struck gold. We've long suspected it had something to do with the Gold Serpent, but this…"

"It's a former military instillation," Captain William Marquez observed sourly. "This report says we allowed them to keep their weapon systems?"

"You know it's common practice," Clarke protested. "Maverick attacks are unpredictable. People—and businesses—have a right to defend themselves."

"And that includes our friend Chartreuse?"

His XO sighed. "He has rights too. I know it sucks."

Marquez clasped his hands behind his back, standing erect and exhaling slowly while gazing out his window at the Pacific Ocean. _New Liberty_ had only been here a few months, assigned to help escort commercial transports that feared Maverick interference. Japan was, after all, one of the world's most booming economic markets, and boats could still be sunk. So far no one had launched any attacks, primarily because they didn't want to deal with _New Liberty_. She was one of the Navy's new fleet of battleships, part of a two-ship construction deal that was an exercise in just how much firepower could be added to a boat and still leave room for a crew to sleep. Her sister ship, _New Justice_, was guarding interests around Pearl Harbor at the moment, while _New Liberty_ was under command of _Churchill_, the floating fortress that served as the Megacity armed forces' only installation around Japan. _New Liberty_ and her sister vessel virtually ensured that Kou Cao was kept out of the Pacific, and for that they were much revered.

To be fair, Signas and his Hunters handled Japan's internal security pretty well, but William Marquez would never publicly admit that. He hadn't come to command a ship as mighty as _New Liberty_ by being a friend to Reploids. It was common knowledge that many in the military echelons wanted their commanders to take an anti-Hunter stance, since the big shots still did not trust Signas after his erratic move to Tokyo. Marquez for his part had no real feelings for or against the Hunters, or the Reploid race as a whole, and therefore he considered himself better qualified to reason his way though potential attacks than someone badly predisposed to their Hunter allies. Therefore he'd decided to stay off the soapbox and just do his job.

"A ship left a harbor in Dalian, China this morning…a ship with the same ID code as the one we intercepted in Nelynda's communiqués," Clarke was saying. "Likely this is what they're trying to transport…whatever it actually is."

"Good. If we catch them in the act, things will be easy."

"Hmph. You really think they'd come quietly?"

Marquez frowned, letting out a heavy sigh as he looked over the information again. "Do the Hunters know?"

Commander Clarke offered another one of her slight shrugs. "If they don't, they soon will. Their spies are good, and they just caught that Azarias guy the other day…"

"True." Marquez knew the order he was going to have to give, but didn't feel all that eager to give it. It meant all sorts of hell from those above him, it meant planning a military operation with mercenaries whose organizational skills didn't really impress Marquez, and above all it meant sharing intelligence, which had gotten him burned before.

But, unfortunately, he knew he wasn't going to retake that harbor alone without risking a lot of troops, and he doubted he'd be lucky enough to secure permission to just raze the place. Whether he liked it or not the Hunters were just better at this sort of thing. "Rachel, get a message off to Admiral Vance. He's not gonna like this, so…"

"I know." She nodded, understanding without a word what was to be done. "I'll report back if anything new turns up."

"Thank you." Marquez raised a hand to his temple, which was already beginning to throb. They'd found a Serpent base a stone's throw away from Hunter Headquarters…that would have to earn them some brownie points with that tightass Signas. But would they be allowed to collect…?

Either way, it would be a long few days.

* * *

**Inafune Harbor **

**Niigata, Japan **

Mr. Helm eyed the crab-like Reploid with no small amount of distaste. Sloppiness and carelessness were two things that badly irked the well-groomed, cautious Serpent operative, and this crab was both. Seeing Helm's agitation, the crab took his sweet old time verifying Helm's identification card, twice feigning error and starting over before Helm cut him off with a sharp "Oh here, would you like _me _to do it?"

"I've got it covered, Guyver-san," the crustacean said with a grin, enjoying Helm's irritation at being addressed by his proper name. He was so high strung, this slightly built humanoid, and so smug that it was impossible not to harass him a bit. "Though I'd wait a bit before going to see your friend."

Helm scowled as he replaced his card. "Why is that?"

"He's busy."

"Busy how?" Helm pressed as he started into the corridors of the harbor's traffic control complex, the largest structure in the area. A lookout tower rose up behind it, a tower that Kou Cao's agents had long since outfitted with artillery in case of attack.

The crab Reploid followed him on his humanoid legs, and his pincer-hands clacked together every once in a while as though he were snapping nonexistent fingers. "Well, I guess it's nothing _too_ important. So what brings you here, oh great one? Some massively important cargo?"

"Perhaps."

"Hmm." The crustacean frowned, his claw-clacking becoming more frequent. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"Only when necessary," Helm agreed curtly, pausing at an intersection in the hallways.

"That way," the crustacean said, gesturing down a hallway to the right. "He's garrisoned down there. Your card should get you in." The smile returned to his face. "He's a lot happier than you are, you know. Lighten up. We're on top of the world."

"We're nowhere yet—could you stop that?" Helm finally snapped, glaring at the musical claws. The crab chuckled lightly and obliged, keeping his condescending eyes on the shorter Reploid. "We're nowhere yet," Helm repeated. "I don't count my roosters before they hatch. Unlike some others…"

"Whatever. Peace out," the crustacean said with a sigh, having had his fun.

Helm exhaled through clenched teeth, walking briskly down the hall with his black suitcase in hand. There were some people he hated dealing with…people who just didn't take things seriously enough. After all, this was a very serious business, one that was to get even more severe in a few days. But after that, he thought with half a smile and a glance towards where he'd left the irksome crab, some sources of annoyance might not be around to bother him any longer.

He stopped at the desired room and inserted his ID card in the door without pausing or thinking about what he might find inside…and without listening to some really obvious sounds. The result was when he opened a door he was treated to sharp swearing and a storm of bed sheets flying through the air as the surprised occupants of the bed before him tried to recover their composure. Helm stopped dead in his tracks, letting the door shut behind him, looking with some disbelief upon the chaos before his eyes. "Ah, now I see," he thought, fighting the urge to laugh. "'Busy'."

"_Jesus_, Guyver!" exclaimed a shirtless man with shoulder-length gray hair. "Wanna _knock_ next time?"

Helm allowed his lips to curl into a smile of wry amusement. "Dynamo. You're looking about as professional as ever. And Nelynda," he continued evenly, turning his attention to a thin blonde woman who appeared especially horrified at the intrusion. "You look a bit pale. Is something the matter?"

"I…you…" the harbor's security chief stammered, still unable to take conscious action.

"My god…holy Christ," Dynamo exhaled, perhaps hearing Helm, perhaps not. "You scared the hell out of me, you bastard!" However his irritation quickly dissolved into mirth, and his face adopted a smile that was nearly as evil as Helm's. "Well if you want to join in, my friend, I think you can fit..." At this Nelynda choked on what remained of her breath and shot out of the bed, draping herself in a sheet and vanishing into a bathroom like a startled bird.

Helm actually laughed, keeping a pointed eye on Nelynda until she was out of sight. "Seems I'm not her type. Nice to know you two have been getting along, though. I'd heard she was incorrigibly nasty."

"She is," Dynamo said with a wide grin, grabbing a shirt from the floor and throwing it on. "She'll probably kill you for this."

"Oh, I think you're in the doghouse too," Helm replied, for the first time feeling a twinge of embarrassment at his timing. But that passed quickly enough. "You know why I'm here, I presume?"

"Oh yeah. 'Bout time, too," he added, opening a refrigerator and retrieving a can of Reploidic alcohol. "Want one?"

"Sure." He caught the tossed can with his one free hand, setting his briefcase down on a table and taking a seat next to it. Despite his relative distaste for rogues and miscreants, Helm found that he not only worked well with Dynamo but also didn't mind his company. "You're still able to do your part?"

"What?" Dynamo asked, genuinely curious, until he noticed Guyver's glance at the bathroom. "Oh!" A big laugh escaped his lips before he could stop himself. "Are you serious?"

"Well…" Helm laughed again, opening his can. "You can certainly understand my concern…"

"Guyver, Guyver, Guyver…" Dynamo shook his head, pulling over another chair and dropping his voice. "Do you honestly think I'd just spontaneously fall in love like that? Me of all people?"

"Dynamo, you're the only one I know random enough _to_ fall in love spontaneously like that." Helm glanced towards the bathroom, where Nelynda, the coordinator of operations at Inafune Harbor, was emerging with a black robe wrapped around her body. Helm smiled pleasantly at her as she approached them awkwardly, and he detected the glint of fire in her dark eyes as soon as she saw him staring at her. She was attractive, Helm thought, but in a predatory kind of way. Her features were sharp and she had a severe look about her, clearly dangerous and concerned with business, simple pleasures and little else. Helm had no problem imagining how Dynamo had taken to her. Nelynda paused and sat on the edge of the bed rather than pulling up a chair, letting her golden hair fall in front of her face to hide her lingering blush, but the poison in her eyes prevented either man from commenting. For a little while, anyway.

"Well, now that we're all dressed," Helm finally said, with just the proper edge of cheerfulness to annoy Nelynda further, "Shall we consider what has to be done?"

"It's all ready," Dynamo assured him, sprawled out lazily in his seat. He was the self-possessed lord of any room he walked into, and this time was no different than the others. "We cleared the transport from Dalian. It should be here tonight. We can send it out just as quickly. Did you get us the boat?"

"Oh, we got you the boat." Helm's smile became even thinner. "_New Liberty_ received the transmission we wanted it to receive. Likely the Hunters are getting that same information from our dear friend Wildcard Azarias."

"Stupid bastard," Dynamo grumped. "Why didn't he call for help? We'd have gotten him out of there before Virgil even got close."

"I can't explain his actions any better than you can," Helm lied. "The point is, the Hunters will take offense to a Serpent base so close to their home, and the Navy will take offense at being duped—this was, after all, one of their own bases. _New Liberty _will be here before tomorrow's sun sets…so," he continued, turning towards Nelynda, "will our security measures be able to handle this?"

"_My _security measures will be quite effective," Nelynda responded icily, feeling insulted by the question. "That is, effective in taking out aerial patrols and warding off _New Liberty _for a little while…" Her dark eyes narrowed on Helm. "But it's up to _you _to procure this secret weapon the _Conseil_preached so much about. Do you have it?"

"You needn't worry about that," Helm reassured her almost dismissively. "My pieces will be on their proper squares when the time comes for the checkmate. What about your ground troops?"

"They'll hold their own," Nelynda responded with an air of pride. They were _her_ troops, after all. "But again, this is the full brunt of the Hunter forces, and they will still be pissed about the assassinations. Are you sure you can—"

"We're positive, hon," Dynamo said, smiling easily. With him there seemed to be no doubt. "We've got another operation in the works as we speak that'll thin out the Hunter ranks quite a bit."

"See?" Helm said to Nelynda, opening his briefcase on the table. "Your friend occasionally knows what he's talking about."

"Does he," the security chief replied with disinterest, focusing her attention on the contents of the briefcase. "What's that?"

"A detonator."

"Shit," Dynamo's exclamation was involuntary. "We're really doing that?"

"We won't be able to use this place after all this is over," Helm explained. "Its major purpose was to set up this scheme anyway. Why not take out as many of the Hunters as we can when they come to reclaim it?"

"Guyver," Dynamo said suddenly. "What exactly is in that cargo ship from Dalian?"

Helm just smiled. "Let's just say we won't mind if the Hunters decide to seize it." He presented a datacard to Nelynda. "Here's all the information you'll need. Coordinate the defense grids accordingly and…well, just wait for it. It'll only be a matter of time."

"And where are you going to be during all of this?" Nelynda asked pointedly.

"Oh, you know. Here and there."

"Guyver never stays in one place very long if he can help it," Dynamo offered helpfully, finishing his drink and crushing the can. "Something about 'operational security'…"

"Sounds more like Guyver's just covering his own ass," Nelynda said coldly. She smiled in her piercing way at the high-ranking operative, doing her best to bait him. "Don't you want to join in the fighting? You don't seem to have a problem letting us take all the risks for you."

"Well, it's your job to take risks for me," Helm replied evenly, his smile perfectly intact. He couldn't be effectively baited by someone he'd so utterly humiliated not ten minutes ago. "I start the fights, and you finish them. You get paid rather well for it, so why complain? Besides, there seem to be unwritten benefits attached as well," he added, with a glance at Dynamo, who laughed while Nelynda fairly snarled.

"Play nice, kids," Dynamo warned, with forced sternness. "Anyhow, I've got the Splicer gassed up and ready. So whenever you send the order, I'm ready to rock."

"Good." Helm closed his briefcase and stood. "I'll rendezvous with both of you at Alpha after this ends. We'll make sure you know about the Hunter advance before they want you to."

"Off to start another fight?" Nelynda pressed.

"Not quite. I've got someone else doing that for me this time."

"And will we ever meet this new lapdog of yours?"

"Lapdog?" Helm's eyebrows rose. "Well, if I were you, I wouldn't really want to meet him, or call him 'lapdog' to his face." He smiled curtly at her before nodding once to Dynamo. "Take care of things, will ya?"

"We've got this covered," the mercenary replied with a grin, slithering next to Nelynda and draping an arm around her shoulders. "Go make things blow up."

"Always." Helm nodded again to them and left.

As soon as he was gone Dynamo redirected his attention to the still-perturbed Nelynda. "Sooo…where were we…?"

"Oh, get over yourself," she hissed, wriggling out of his grip and storming back into the bathroom. Dynamo just chuckled and stretched himself out on the bed, yawning and shaking his head.

"Mehhh…women."

* * *

_Future Times, August 4 _

_GLOBAL CONFERENCES CONTINUE AS ELECTIONS DRAW NEAR _

_By Bradbury K. Wells _

_Megacity 5—Dignitaries from all over the world continue to flock to the United Nations headquarters to resolve disputes despite what many feel to be a growing threat of Reploid hostility in regard to recently passed laws._

_The timing of the conferences, which have increased in number compared to prior years, reflects global anxiety over the upcoming elections. While governmental shifts have occurred in the Megacity System and the European Union simultaneously before, the pressing issues this time are the steps to be taken in regard to the Reploid population._

_"I believe that progress is being made," says Xander Couteau, the System's defense secretary. "There has been some controversy over recent laws, but the presence of the Gold Serpent, and of remaining pockets of Maverick resistance, requires some added security."_

_Couteau__ may not have much to worry about. Current polls show that a majority of System citizens either approve of or don't mind the restrictions currently placed on Reploids. These same polls favor a return of incumbents, who have been taking a fairly conservative view towards extending rights to the Reploids._

_Despite its liberal reputation, polls show that sentiments do not differ very much in the Union. Recent attacks by Reploid extremists have rekindled fears of another Maverick revolt, and many citizens favor an expansion in the powers of the Maverick Hunters to keep the Gold Serpent out of their land._

_The subjects of the recent conferences include everything from Reploid rights to trade agreements, most of which are understandably aimed to please swing voters. But whatever the outcome may be, if history has taught us anything, it's that proponents of all sides will have quite a bit to say in the coming months. The world can look forward to a most spirited debate._

* * *

**Salem Vale **

**Tokyo Headquarters**

The rain continued to fall, albeit lightly. The individual drops caught the last rays of the setting sun and rushed at the world below glinting like tiny diamonds from heaven. The sharp, tinny sound of those drops splattering onto Reploid armor echoed throughout the little cemetery, an acre of grassy land shaded by synthetic trees. The site was located at the very edge of the Hunter base, having been purchased after the initial land grab. The name, Salem Vale, had something to do with the former landowner's heritage and Cain—who had made the purchase, rather than Signas—had decided not to change it.

Gathered now at an open grave near a row of trees at the far east end of the burial ground were rows of Hunters in full battle dress standing respectfully in military formation—at least, as close to military formation as the Hunter mercenaries ever came. They were an interesting blend of greens and yellows and reds and every other color of the spectrum, most of them members of Unit 5, which had assembled in full to pay respects to their fallen lieutenant commander. All the unit commanders were present, plus a few friends of the deceased from other units, and finally the chiefs: Signas, Douglas, Caligula and Lifesaver.

But the most notable presence of all was a man of medium height in a flowing, hooded black raincoat. He stood to the right of Signas in front of the grave, observing events from the shadows cast on his face by his hood. However, Dr. Cain's familiar white beard was clearly visible, the pale whiskers jumping lightly at the impact of raindrops.

Vulcan, standing in the front ranks of Unit 5, his polished silver armor glittering like a wet mirror, found his attention drawn to the calm old scientist once more. Many if not most of those assembled appeared to feel somewhat awkward, but Cain, recently returned from a business trip to Florida, merely stood with quiet dignity and seemed to exude nothing but respect for the fallen Hunter, even though the said Hunter had not arrived yet. Cain was the one who'd opened the door for Reploid burials amidst the Hunter ranks. He considered it disgusting to throw the remains of sentient life forms, whatever their composition, into junk heaps and recycle them like mere objects. It was a gesture that had won him much gratitude, but also some skepticism, primarily from his fellow humans but also from many Reploids, who really didn't care if they wound up in a hole or in a junkyard—it wouldn't change the fact that they were dead.

But it was the principle more than it was the practice, and Cain realized that, and Vulcan felt himself idolizing the scientist for that. Even he had had his doubts, but standing here now he could find nothing awkward or wrong about the process and found himself touched quite beyond words by what was taking place.

But no one could tell that by looking at him. The silver Hunter forcibly contained all his reactions, trying to appear as collected and calm as possible. He took this example from the commanders flanking Cain and Signas. X stood with his arms behind his back, his eyes focusing on something distant. He was as calm as Signas appeared to be, and was politely respectful of the situation. He seemed to be turning something over in his mind, which didn't surprise anyone. He had a reputation for being a deep thinker.

Next to him stood Zero, who seemed a bit more martial in his stance. He too wore a calm expression on his face, but his eyes told more than X's. In them Vulcan saw a curious sadness, not outright grief but rather an emotion that seemed to suggest that Zero regretted that it was necessary to bury another comrade. He must have been burying friends all his life, Vulcan realized, suddenly feeling sympathetic towards the revered warrior.

With the two famous Reploids stood two humans: Commander Tremont and his girlfriend, the dark-haired Ravenna Steele. The latter wore a black raincoat of lighter make than Cain's, but the former stood in his pilot's uniform. The rain was not so bad as to drench him, and he wouldn't mind it if it had been. Alec had been relatively relaxed these last two years, but the fierce bear of a man Vulcan remembered from the Seraph Uprising seemed to have made a reappearance since the recent incidents.

Standing opposite these four, Damia's aqua-blue armor sparkled with a sheen that rivaled X's. Vulcan knew little about her other than that she was something of a legend in the organization, an impression one wouldn't gather from simply glancing at her slight body. But she had the ear of the intelligence chief, and that coupled with the fact that every Hunter of import Vulcan could think of seemed willing if not eager to fight wars for her made her very mystifying to the young Hunter. Vulcan knew that she had been a friend to the deceased, and was interested in the fact that this famously stoic commander wasn't at all bothering to conceal the grief in her eyes. If Vulcan had heard correctly Damia had also been a friend to Revenant, the Hunter who'd been nailed in Moscow. This wasn't a good time for her.

Commanders Luna and Zegmann stood side by side next to Damia, and their expressions were almost polar opposites. Luna, a Huntress who Vulcan had heard was quite light-hearted, seemed to be taking the event far more seriously than Vulcan would have expected. However Zegmann, a man who had always appeared stern and serious to Vulcan, seemed unable to keep his lips set straight—the corners of his mouth kept twitching upward, and the light that flickered through his eyes, a light he struggled to hide, seemed to indicate that he was one of those who found these ceremonies somewhat superfluous. Next to both of these was Mason, the most martial of them all, who simply stood at attention and waited, his face betraying nothing.

Directly across from Vulcan and the rest of Unit 5 were the assorted others who had come. There were the chiefs, with Caligula at the end, significant despite his soggy appearance. Caligula's deputy had been there on the walk to Salem Vale, but had returned to base after receiving a phone call. It had seemed important.

Here Vulcan wondered at himself for once again letting his attention fall on the intelligence chief. It was the third time it had happened in the very brief time he'd been standing here. The area around Caligula seemed to demand his attention. There before him was the master of the upper level of Hunter HQ. His people were the ones who would find out who had done this and where they were hiding. His people were the ones who would do the most important work in this strange new war. Without realizing it Vulcan had constructed a curtain of mystique and cast it over the Invisible Men, making them appear even more appealing to his young mind. Piquing his interest further was the fact that he'd spotted among the crowd both Castle and Acrystos, and, to complete the picture, Unit 17's Scylla. The presence of these three supposed spies so close to Caligula painted an image in Vulcan's brain that attracted him like a magnet. There _was_ a secret unit, he thought. Castle, Acrystos and Scylla _were _connected by something more than camaraderie. And perhaps—most intriguing of all—perhaps Vulcan's late superior had actually been a member of their ranks.

But his attention was snatched away from the intelligence chief when, at the foot of the little hill the grave was located on, the pallbearers appeared.

The casket Archer had obtained for Hawkins was made of simple white metal, adorned with red trimmings that reflected the image of the Hunter within. Archer himself held onto one end of the front of casket, staring resolutely at the open grave that was his destination. His armor was as well-polished as everyone's, but yet it seemed to shine less than that of those around him, and Vulcan saw that his face and eyes not only bore no expression but, if such a thing was possible, had _negative _expression. Vulcan suddenly felt the void that so tortured Archer in his own soul and, as quickly as if a switch had been turned, the young Hunter's mask of indifference shattered like one of the raindrops hitting his armor.

Until now he hadn't known exactly how he was supposed to feel, but seeing them coming he was filled with all the emotions he'd seen going through the other Hunters he'd observed. He wished he knew something that would console Archer, or Rykov, who held the end across from his commander. Rykov looked plainly upset, but wanted to remain collected at least until this was finished. Behind him was Torque and behind Archer was Sparks, both fellow members of Unit 5 and friends to Hawkins.

As bereaved as Vulcan felt to see them, his sympathetic gaze lingered longest on the woman behind the casket. Vulcan sensed that she was a Reploid, though she wore no armor of any sort. She had covered the lower half of her face with a black handkerchief, as though she were afraid that her own life might slip out from between her lips. Her dark eyes glistened from tears and her right hand rested limply in Krysta's left as Vulcan's friend led her towards the grave. Vulcan had never heard Hawkins say anything to suggest that he had a love interest. Indeed, he seemed to have kept it a secret from everyone except Archer and Rykov. This woman, known simply as Veronica, seemed to feel terribly out of place, and it wasn't until she got close that Vulcan saw the ice in her eyes. She was angry.

Vulcan glanced around and realized that it wasn't a sentiment limited to her. Several Hunters seemed to be experiencing a bout of righteous indignation. Vulcan's eyes fell once more on Caligula, whose optics positively burned. After seeing this Vulcan felt anger rise within himself too. His sympathy for his friends was suddenly drowned by a hatred for the ones who had done this, and a desire to make them pay. He saw this desire in Alec's eyes as well, and in Scylla's, and Castle's and Acrystos's, and it was rightly so.

Signas began delivering a short speech as the pallbearers lowered the casket onto the platform that would later be lowered into the earth. The speech seemed generic to Vulcan, and this irritated him. Try as he might he couldn't latch onto the words and instead focused on his surroundings, trying to be as sympathetic towards Rykov as he could when he and Krysta appeared next to him. Then he chanced to look at Damia, and he saw that she did not look angry at all, but seemed torn about something. He realized her attention was focused on Veronica, and when he looked at the woman he understood that her anger was directed at the Hunters. She was a civilian in love with a warrior, and had never fully understood why Hawkins was interested in this kind of work. Perhaps it would have been easier had he been killed in combat, but the actual circumstances were such that she had no reasonable target for her anger. So she blamed the Hunters, rather involuntarily, for exposing her lover to the danger that had killed him.

Vulcan, however, did not yet know enough about life and love to understand this chain of emotions. A feeling of repulsion came over him when he saw her expressions, and he found himself disliking her at once for her unspoken accusations. She didn't understand a thing about the life of a Hunter—what business did she have casting blame at them for the death of one of their own?

It was though another switch had been thrown. Vulcan blinked his eyes to clear them of rainwater, and when he opened them he seemed to see things from a new light. Everyone suddenly was false to him, everyone so irritating. His indignant attitude towards Veronica expanded to include Zegmann, and the others like him who didn't take this seriously. There would be a calamity if someone was rude at a human's funeral—what did Hawkins's racial identity have to do with the respect he deserved at this moment?

Even Alec didn't escape his wrath. The woman at his side looked around with eyes that were curious rather than eyes that were reverent. She was a tourist, Vulcan couldn't help but think. She was here to amuse herself, not to honor the death of a comrade, and Alec should not have brought her.

He didn't think twice about this newfound bitterness, even when he looked at Rykov and noted that his friend was quietly shedding tears. Instead of his former sympathy, Vulcan wanted to reprimand Rykov. This was a time for strength, not for tears. He should have understood that.

"Are you all right?" Krysta finally whispered to him.

Vulcan realized that his face must have been telling more than he'd realized, and in his embarrassment he immediately shook off the hand she'd pressed against his. "I'm fine," he said, much harsher than he'd intended. Krysta looked hard at him, confused and slightly offended. Vulcan, however, was conscious only of his embarrassment, and began swiping the rain off his face for fear it might appear that he, too, was crying. Then he thought that the gesture might make others think he was wiping away real tears, and he became even more flustered.

This irrational shame drowned out his irritation, but he was unable to regain a positive or even a reverent mood. He felt oppressed by the presence of those around him and wanted very badly to be alone. When they at last began to march past the casket, bidding their final farewells, Vulcan was unable even to think up a suitable goodbye, and just stared at the wet white coffin as he passed it by. When he looked up again his eyes met Veronica's. Her eyes still accused him of something, but rather than irritating him this just added to the stifling feeling that was making him long to escape from this place.

As the burial ended, Vulcan caught sight of Archer, who knelt before the casket as though saying a prayer, with Rykov standing behind him. The sight of his commander and his best friend so grief-stricken hit him harder than he'd expected it to, and his demeanor changed once more. Who did the Serpent think he was? Did he really think he could get away with this?

"No," Vulcan whispered without realizing it, attracting Krysta's attention. She saw him glancing in a certain direction, and shivered despite herself. "What is it?" he asked, conscious of her eyes on him.

"You're looking at him," she replied in a curious tone, staring in Caligula's direction but seemingly unable to stare directly at the man.

Vulcan frowned. "He's been looking at me."

He referred to many instances before this, and she understood, and it frightened her. "Vulcan, don't do this," she tried to say, but succeeded only in saying his name, unable to express the rest of the thought. He frowned, not reading her expression correctly, and began marching home with the rest of the unit.

They were halfway back to the base when Caligula felt Vulcan's presence behind him. The intelligence chief tilted his head towards the silver Hunter, raising an eyebrow in open inquiry.

Vulcan had often imagined himself experiencing difficulty in speaking directly to this man, but today he had no troubles at all. Memories of Hawkins's grim death and of his friends' grief drove him forward. "You've been watching me for a while," he said with ease, carefully scrutinizing Caligula's face for a reaction. "If there is something you want from me, why don't you ask?"

The only reaction was in the chief's dark eyes, which displayed confirmation of his suspicions. "Suppose I did. Given what you think you know, what would your response be?"

Vulcan hesitated involuntarily before responding. But his answer was already set—a sense of finality had long ago settled over him. "I'm willing to do everything I can."

The chief held eye contact a little longer before replying with a definite nod. "Good."

That word seemed to settle the matter. Vulcan fell back into the crowd, which didn't really hold any solid formation any longer. As he returned he glanced towards Krysta, and nearly stopped cold when he detected the look that was only just fading from her eyes: fear. Vulcan glanced around, wondering what could have frightened her, but then realized she'd been looking at him. She quickly avoided his gaze and said nothing to him, even when they approached the base.

Vulcan didn't understand her, or why she mistrusted Caligula and the spies so much. He was in no more danger with them than he had been fighting Mavericks in Megacity 5. And besides, Hawkins had charged him with protecting his friends, and he fully intended to fulfill his promise.

Even if it required turning Invisible.

* * *

**Operations Center**

**Intelligence Sector**

"So it's true." Kevin Seitz glowered at the document in his hands. This was the kind of information that chilled his bones.

"Looks like it," replied a tall Reploid with fiery red hair. "Kou Cao has been occupying this harbor for…hell, I don't even want to think how long."

"Right under our damn noses," Seitz growled. "He's…Christ, he may have even used this place to coordinate Hawkins's murder…what's the troop strength here, Volkado?"

His associate offered an uncertain expression. "We imagine the place will be well guarded…but probably more by mechaniloid security than by actual foot soldiers. Too many of them would have attracted attention by now."

Seitz nodded in agreement. "So it's automated defenses, then…" He turned to a table behind him, where Volkado had already spread out a diagram of Inafune Harbor. "It's a big place."

"A third of the place is docks," Volkado replied dismissively. "We'll want enough manpower to seize the vessels there but that shouldn't present us with too much resistance on the enemy's part. They'll likely be stationed here," he said, pointing to the two processing buildings on either side of the control building. "The central structure is a real labyrinth, and I don't trust the tower behind it, but if we take it we'll likely own the place."

Seitz frowned. "I don't like it. A direct assault will be costly…unless we have Alec get rid of the tower and cover us from the air."

Volkado nodded. "Steel Wind has been itching for some action."

"Azarias gave us this info? Did he tell us anything else about the place? Like, weak points?"

"Virgil's sending his complete interrogation results soon," Volkado assured his superior. "We'll have them in a few hours. Until then…"

"Until then we have some planning to do," Seitz finished, preparing to head out in search of Caligula.

"Kev, wait." Volkado gestured to the other end of the large room. "Azarias gave us a big lead on the Denver bust, too. Listy's working on it now."

"Is she?" Seitz walked over to where Kalisto, Volkado's shorter, blue-haired sister, was gazing intently at a satellite feed. "Hey. What's the deal?"

"Hey…" She blinked, having not realized he was approaching. "Azarias gave us Roscoe, Montana as a hunting ground. We came up with this place." She gestured to the satellite image, which depicted a tall facility surrounded by smaller factories and storage garages. "This is Hargrove Tower, an armor manufacturing plant. We've been monitoring it for two days now, and we've seen an awful lot of these coming in." She handed Seitz a printed satellite photo of what looked to be a large transport. "Familiar?"

Seitz's eyes widened. "Those things…they're a smuggler's dream come true. They're also as illegal as you can get."

"Then we have probable cause," Kalisto said smugly. A secure phone rang, and Volkado picked it up. Kalisto hid her curiosity and continued. "You'll want to move on this one right away, Kev. I think they've been evacuating this place ever since Damia nabbed their agents in Denver."

"Two missions…" Seitz sighed. "It's a bad idea to divide our forces. Keep an eye on this place, let me know the _instant _something major happens."

"Will do."

Seitz nodded and once more turned to go in pursuit of Caligula, but yet again Volkado stopped him. "Oh, lord, what is it now? Elvis in the Zen Garden?"

"Uh…well, it's about as plausible." Volkado extended the phone. "You'll want to take this call, Mr. Senior Officer."

"And why is that?" Seitz asked, taking the receiver with some curiosity, though he wasn't at all prepared for the voice he heard at the other end.

"Hello, Mr. Seitz. I'm Commander Rachel Clarke, of the battleship _New Liberty_. Wanna go blow up a harbor with me?"

* * *

**Hargrove Tower **

**Roscoe, Montana**

"So this is the last of it, then?"

"Yeah, boss. No more nasty incriminating evidence to worry about. It'll all go out with this transport."

"Excellent," the boss replied. He was a humanoid Reploid, average in every way except for his radiant, gleaming gold armor, which had often been compared to a second sun. "It's been a hell of a week, Kitsch. If I ever see another of Moor's inspector's again, it'll be too soon."

Kitsch, a lizard Reploid with polished green scales who wore an open black coat and equally black armor from the waist down, smiled a pointy-toothed grin. "It would be much easier if Daedalus had taken out that furball instead of Greaves. What good was that, anyway, Caliph? Greaves was a lightweight."

"The idea is fear, Kitsch. It's all about the fear." Caliph, Kou Cao's operations director for the northwestern United States, smiled and stared out the window down at the factory workers bustling to load the recently arrived transport. It would be ready to leave tonight, and with it would go anything that could have spelled trouble for Caliph with the Maverick Hunters. "Greaves _was _a lightweight…so was everyone in his unit. We killed Hunters of every rank that day…so they all know that none of them are safe. They're _all _our targets."

"Well then that's all the more reason for them to come down on us hard," Kitsch groused, hissing at an approaching human. As a former Maverick, security boss Kitsch still enjoyed picking on the organics.

"What is it?" Caliph asked the human, who he knew to be a messenger.

"You said you wanted to know as soon as he arrived," the human said simply.

Caliph nodded. "Ah, at last. Now we can take care of the last thing of value here…" He looked to Kitsch and gestured down to the transport. "Make sure it leaves on time."

The lizard nodded, slithering past the two of them with a coy look in his eyes that made the human's blood chill. "Of course…"

Caliph waited for the ex-Maverick to leave earshot. "They say he was one of the raiders who plundered Megacity 5 the night the Buzzbombs flew. That surprise you, Yergin?"

"Not in the slightest," the human replied without hesitation. "Anyway, boss…he's on the balcony."

"_The _balcony?" Caliph queried, getting a nod in response. "Figures," he sighed as he started walking, Yergin keeping step. "And how is Mr. Helm this fine day?"

"Actually, boss," Yergin said, attaching importance to the words, "it's not Mr. Helm this time."

This caused the golden Reploid's eyebrow to peak. "Who is it?"

"Dunno. Some new guy."

Caliph frowned at this news, his gait slowing down a bit. "And what does this new guy look like?"

Yergin shrugged. "Tall guy in a white coat. Never seen him before, but there ain't nothin' special about him."

Caliph nodded. "Right…I'll handle this. You make sure things run smoothly down below. Give me a buzz if anything weird happens."

"Will do, boss," Yergin said, turning to leave. He clearly didn't read much into this, and thought Caliph was overreacting.

But in Caliph's opinion he had a lot to be worried about right now. He still didn't know who had killed Daedalus, or even how, but he sure as hell had a few good guesses _why_. Daedalus would have been a major liability had the Hunters gotten their hands on him. If the _Conseil_had decided that Caliph, too, was a liability now, then his current guest might be something more than just a messenger. Involuntarily he checked his arm cannon's readiness as he stepped into Hargrove Tower's executive elevator, which had coded access to all floors of the facility. He doubted that he'd be ready to deal with a Gold Serpent assassin, but he at least had to try, should it come to that.

"Destination?" the elevator's voice, a feminine monotone, asked calmly once the soundproof doors had closed.

"Observation Ring," Caliph replied. "Codeword Runaway."

The elevator quickly came to life, bringing Caliph to the top of his facility while the Reploid himself pondered what he would find waiting for him there. The Observation Ring was a balcony that ran along the edge of the facility's highest level, just below the roof. Floodlights were located just below it to aid in visual scans of the grounds below. The facility itself was a square building, so 'Observation Ring' was a bit of a misnomer, but not one that demanded enough attention to change.

The doors opened and Caliph walked down the hall approaching the doors to the outer balcony, where he noted two guards standing watch. "He's alone?"

"Yessir."

"Good…keep it that way." Caliph opened the doors and stepped out onto the Observation Ring. His target was in plain sight, standing with his back to Caliph while looking out at the surrounding mountains. He was indeed a tall man, with dark, well-groomed hair and a build that suggested agility more than it did power. He wore a long white leather jacket, and held one arm behind his back in a calm, dignified pose as he glanced out at the scenery. Caliph immediately judged him a businessman, rather than any kind of assassin, and relaxed…though not completely. "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, Mister…?"

"White," the man replied. His voice was deep and methodical, but at the same time smooth and casual. "And it's no trouble at all." He gestured towards the mountains. "You have quite a view up here, you see…"

Caliph had never much cared for scenery, but he supposed he could understand what his visitor was talking about. The sun was just setting, and the reddish-gold sky behind the mountains was a little bit breathtaking even for Hargrove Tower's normally materially minded chief. "So we do…I guess I never paid it much attention."

"Really? God, I'd be up here every chance I had…"

As much as the man's reverence interested him, Caliph had other things to do. "Sorry to tear you away from the view, Mr. White, but we are in the last phase of our product evacuation, and we're all a bit—"

"Yes, yes I understand," White replied, turning to face Caliph for the first time. He had an easy smile on his face and the kind of eyes that always implied he knew more than someone else did. The image of an approachable but conniving businessman was completed in Caliph's mind. "Sorry Mr. Helm can't be here, but he's otherwise engaged. The _Conseil_ sent me to handle this. I hope it's not a problem?"

"No, no problem," Caliph answered quickly. "But I don't have much to tell you, other than that this will be our last major shipment."

"Ah, yes," Mr. White said, somewhat apologetically, instantly making Caliph nervous. "About that…it's not going to be the last shipment, after all. You see, we forgot about something."

Caliph blinked. "If you mean that…well, whatever that _thing_ was that Helm was so protective about…it's not so much that I've forgotten it as that I'm not about to touch it without direct approval from the _Conseil_"

"Well now you have it." Mr. White reached into his coat pocket and produced a datacard that he handed to Caliph. "This is all the permission you'll need. I'm sending a Vector to pick it up tonight—"

"Tonight?" Caliph interrupted him, already feeling overwhelmed by the inevitable. "White, with all due respect, we'll just have sent off this transport by then. The Hunters will know something is up if a Vector shows up so soon after—"

"I'm afraid that the Hunters already know something is up, Caliph," White interrupted in turn, his voice hardening slightly. "They know because of your man Daedalus's slipshod performance in Denver last week. They know because Wildcard Azarias can't keep his mouth shut. And we'd just as soon get that 'thing' as you so elegantly termed it out of here before the Hunters decide to storm the castle."

Caliph recoiled slightly. "You…you actually think the Hunters are _coming _here?"

"Caliph," White answered, somewhat tiredly, "I _know _the Hunters are coming here, and they'll be coming soon…by morning, probably. They know about this transport, and that's all they need nowadays to bring a place crashing to the ground in flaming ruins."

"But," Caliph still protested, "but I'd have heard something by now if that were true. They can't just show up and attack us. They have to investigate, detain, get warrants—"

"No, my friend, I'm afraid they do not." White paced across the balcony, one arm swinging at his side with the other still pressed firmly against his back. "Not since our gas attacks, anyway. Their powers have been, how shall we say…expanded."

"Expanded?" Caliph couldn't believe the universe would conspire against him in such a way. "I can't believe no one has challenged this!"

"Oh, they've challenged it," Mr. White said, his smile somewhat devious. "Every self-respecting Reploid rights activist has claimed 'betrayal' over these new developments, but Emperor Caligula has always been brutally effective with the power he is given. No one complains for long," White finished, in a tone that left no doubt.

Caliph swore, stalking to the edge of the balcony and looking down at the factory grounds far below. "So we prepare for the Vector tonight? Won't that almost certainly bring the Hunters crashing onto our doorstep?"

"Without a doubt," White said, as though it were the most unimportant thing in the world.

"You sound sure of yourself," Caliph said harshly. "You sticking around?"

"Me? No, unfortunately. I have other matters to attend to."

"Of course. I mean, why wouldn't you have 'other matters' to attend to…"

White smiled thinly. "Now, Caliph…is that the kind of trust you place in the _Conseil__ des Cindres_ after all we've done for you? Do you really think we'd leave you…unprotected?" He said the last word with a glint in his eyes that struck at Caliph's core.

The golden Reploid stiffened, not about to be labeled a coward by this smug, self-important bureaucrat. "Your 'protection' is a bonus, White. Not a necessity."

"Well, nevertheless," White said, not bothering to hide his amusement in irking Caliph, "I think you'll want to accept it."

Mr. White called Caliph's attention to the far corner of the balcony, where the shadows seemed thicker than in other places. Caliph felt his blood begin to chill, more so when the shadows began moving closer to them, taking on a vaguely humanoid form. Caliph opened his mouth to question White when, from behind, he felt the presence of someone's face near his own, with cold breath falling onto his cheek. "What the hell?" Caliph yelled, spinning around to confront thin air. "What is this?" he asked again, turning round sharply once more, but the shadowy mass was no longer there either.

White's light laughter further enraged Caliph, and served to draw the golden Reploid's attention to the edge of the balcony where he'd first seen White. "I'd like to introduce an apprentice of mine," the _Conseil_'s representative was saying. "Call him 'Blade'."

Caliph's eyes widened as he took in the chilling sight of a figure wrapped in a flowing black cloak, his optics radiating like balefires from within the darkness of the hood that covered his head. He seemed to Caliph a Grim Reaper of sorts, or perhaps more like one of those cloaked, hooded monks who stalked about silently, only glancing your way to intimidate you.

"I'm leaving him to assist you in case any of the Hunters do come," White continued. "We cannot allow them to get their hands on the Vector's cargo, Caliph. If the Hunters should close in, you worry about the cargo, and leave the enemy to him." The tall man smiled at his shadowy companion, and to Caliph it seemed as though it were a secret smile, the kind that conveyed information Caliph himself wasn't supposed to know. It wasn't exactly good for his nerves. "We'll expect a report from you as soon as you get yourself hidden away."

"Right," Caliph responded, swallowing his apprehensions and nodding at White. "Of course…but first things first, eh?"

"Good attitude." White smiled as though at a child who had just successfully completed some menial task. "We'll keep in touch, Caliph. Until then…" He nodded to the chief of operations, then to his comrade, and passed through the balcony doors back inside the tower.

Caliph exhaled slowly, turning his head with grudging effort from the door to the cloaked man standing at the balcony' edge. "Well I hope you're happy, Mr. Blade. You've just successfully complicated what would otherwise be a relatively easy mission. You know how many kinds of hell my grunts are gonna raise when I tell 'em we have _another _shipment tonight?"

Blade moved forward—he did not seem to walk as much as he seemed to flow—steeling his blazing eyes at the golden Reploid in front of him. Then he spoke. It made Caliph visibly recoil. Blade's words weren't words per se…at least they didn't seem so to Caliph. The wraith's harsh, icy voice seemed to project itself directly into Caliph's mind, making his spine go rigid and his blood run cold.

"_Irrelevant." _The balefires burned even brighter, transfixing Caliph like arrows. "_You have a job to do…_" Blade raised his left arm slightly; Caliph yelped and swatted at the back of his neck, finding nothing despite the unmistakable feeling of spiders or some other many-legged insects rushing across his flesh. The wraith's arm lowered, and in his next words was the unmistakable sensation of a smug grin.

"_Get to work._"

Caliph regained control of himself with an effort, focusing his attentions on the rage that this creature procured in him. "Well fine then, Captain Bedsheets," he seethed, gesturing to the opening door. "Whatever gets you out of here quickly is good for me." He left the wraith and turned immediately to the two guards he'd left posted near the door. "How the hell did you let that guy get past?"

A guard blinked. "He was the representative of the—"

"No, no, not White, the other one!"

Another blink. "What other one, boss?"

"That one, the one in the Halloween costume, he's right out there…" Caliph stopped, his angry features melting into a colossal frown. Blade, of course, had vanished from sight.

"This is gonna be one hell of a night," Caliph groaned, retreating to the elevator.

* * *

**War Room**

**Tokyo Headquarters**

"…And as you can see, the harbor itself is easily approachable by a ground force, since it is well within the realm of safe teleportation."

X nodded slowly, glancing to the other commanders, who seemed to share Captain Marquez's opinion. The human officer, talking to them from aboard _New Liberty_ by way of holoscreen, referred to the 3D image of Inafune Harbor projected on the planning table. The Azure Hunter gestured to the central building. "This is where most of the targets are?"

"Most likely," Caligula answered for Marquez, standing to the right of the holoscreen with Signas. "We can focus our efforts here, and send smaller teams into the buildings flanking the central core. Teleportation onto the scene is probably the best way, as the Captain said."

"And my boys will be standing by in case that tower goes live," Alec surmised. "You sure I can't shoot holes in the bastards on the ground, too?"

"And cause all manner of friendly fire incidents? Sure, why not. I never liked any of you anyway." Signas smiled and looked back to the Megacity officer. "How soon before we move on this?"

Marquez shrugged, his image flickering briefly. "We're tracking the transport that left Dalian. It'll be in Niigata in a few hours…we want to let them have a chance to work on it a bit before we move in. We don't know if it's carrying cargo to them or if they're sending cargo back to China…either way we figure we can catch them in the act of importing or exporting something illegal."

"And once we confirm that they are, in fact, assholes," Luna asked, "we warp in to do a job?"

"As soon as I get the signal from your headquarters I'll start moving _New Liberty _into position." Marquez glanced apologetically towards X and Zero, the only two commanders he really recognized. "We'll have to keep the ship out of the line of sight, so it'll take a few minutes to get there. They'll probably already know we're in the area, since a ship like this doesn't move without being noticed, but…" He smiled. "Once they see us pulling in, I doubt their fighting spirits will be anything but decimated."

"I sure hope so," Damia groused, staring mistrustfully at the tower. "An alcove full of Serpent agents is going to be full of Serpent traps…probably we'll run into Nexnecis somewhere along the line, and I dunno about the rest of you, but that's not my idea of a good time."

"We've got the curative serum now," Mason reminded them. "If we take it right away, we shouldn't be too messed up."

"Even so," Signas said, "let's not go tempting death. Whoever's in there needs to be ready for anything."

"So what exactly will we be doing once we're, you know, in there?" Luna queried.

"This isn't like hunting Mavericks," Marquez answered, too quickly. "You're making arrests now. Lethal force is authorized, but not preferable." The Captain let out a quiet breath, trying to bridge the gap he'd created by lecturing them. "Look, I'm not going to tell you to stand around if a human is shooting at you. I'm a soldier myself. These guys are the bad guys, we're authorized to go in there and stop them, and the governments can't really complain if one of you has to drop a human."

"Even so," Signas said, feeling as though he were a broken record today, "shoot to wound, not to kill, all right? Every time we kill a human the line between Hunter and Maverick is blurred a little more, no matter how much the bastard may have deserved it."

"Oh come now, humans are all our friends and I can't possibly think of one of them deserving a good scalping," Damia said with perfect innocence, earning herself an elbow from Luna.

"We'll finalize our plans and get back to you within the hour," Caligula said to Marquez, feeling irritation setting in. "Let us know if anything important happens."

"Will do," Marquez nodded, breaking communications. The look on his face said clearly that he hadn't the slightest idea what to make of these heroes that the world placed their trust in.

"Anything?" Signas asked of his comrades once a silence had permeated the room.

"Well since it's probably gonna be a light day, I was thinking I'd head down to the beach for some extreme volleyball. You guys want in?" Zero asked, straight-faced as always. He gestured to the 3D model dismissively. "Look, this is no big deal. I don't like not knowing what security tricks they've got in store there, but I don't think they're gonna mount a serious defense knowing that the whole of the Hunter Headquarters is able to come crashing down on them."

"…Maybe not," Caligula said suddenly, receiving an internal communiqué.

"Excuse me?" Signas asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Give me a minute," the intelligence chief replied, heading for the monitor that he had displaying the Montana satellite feed.

"Who exactly are we looking to detain in there?" Mason asked.

Signas fumbled with the table's controls and replaced the image of Inafune Harbor with the profile of a dark eyed blonde woman. "This is the harbor security chief, and probably the overall base operator. Her name's Nelynda. She's got a smuggling record…minor stuff mostly, but enough to get her police attention."

"Looks like she hit the big time," X observed.

"Guys," Caligula called out, "come here." The assembled commanders frowned in unison and moved closer to where their comrade was loading up a large picture of the mountains in the Roscoe area. "This is an armored transport that pulled into Hargrove Tower a while ago."

"This is the place you told us about earlier?" Zero asked. "The one Daedalus was trying to reach?"

"We thought so," Caligula nodded. "Now I think we know so. These transports are used primarily by smugglers, and this isn't the first we've seen around Hargrove Tower since the Denver bust."

"Is this live feed?" Luna asked, impressed.

"The Megacity System lets us pirate off their _Impervious_ satellite," X explained. "It's how we found Sigma in that quarry a few years back."

"Isn't this Commander Moor's jurisdiction?" Signas was asking.

"It is, and we've tipped him off." Caligula sighed. "He's getting a team together, but they spotted something they thought we should see." The image flipped to that of a security video sent in by one of Commander Moor's contacts. It showed a large, heavily armed helicopter speeding through the sky, barely distinguishable from the dark night by the cockpit lights and moving rotors.

"Is that what I think it is?" Commander Zegmann asked, his mouth getting dry.

"I'm afraid so," Caligula answered, rewinding the clip and freezing it in the middle, focusing on the aircraft.

"Christ," Zero breathed. "That's a Vector gunship."

"Those are military!" Damia exclaimed. "Is the System moving on this without telling us?"

"No," Caligula shook his head, gesturing towards a bulge on the helicopter's right side. "Kevin and the others have analyzed this…it's a cargo holder, attached after the gunship was manufactured. So that means…"

"It's stolen," X finished. "Do we know where it's going?"

"We're trying to get a fix on it," Caligula replied, "but at the course it was on when we snapped this clip it's heading at least for the vicinity of Hargrove Tower."

"So they want our attention focused on the grounded transport while the Vector sneaks back to Hargrove to take out the really incriminating cargo," X summarized, glancing to Signas.

"Sir," Caligula said to the boss, "I think, and Moor concurs, that whatever's happening in Roscoe is happening in the next few hours."

"Exactly when the Niigata bust will take place." Signas sighed heavily. "Cal, get a hold of Marquez. He'll need to know about this. It's possible one of these may be a diversion…"

"Or that one or both is a trap," Zegmann suggested.

"Or that," Signas allowed. "But whatever the case, Roscoe is definitely our business, and I'm not sure Moor can take Hargrove Tower alone."

"Here," Caligula said, calling up a model of the Roscoe facility on the planning table. "Let's figure this out."

"This place is set right in the mountains," Damia observed instantly, not liking what she was seeing. "It's also a bit bigger than the harbor…could take some serious manpower to conquer the place."

"I'm not so sure," X frowned, pointing to the main building. "This place, the actual 'tower', is probably where the big shots will be hiding." He motioned to the factories in front of the main building. "Here's where the artillery will be, if they have any." He glanced to Caligula. "Have you done any work on the place?"

The chief nodded. "Hargrove Tower draws power from two main generators located back here," he motioned to the two most entrenched factory buildings. "If someone can sneak inside before the main cavalry moves in…"

"I wonder who 'somebody' could be," Damia deadpanned, frowning gloriously at the buildings. "Let me guess…we'll be moving past the most heavily concentrated defenses to get to these things?"

Caligula smiled thinly. "Of course."

She sighed. "Well, what else is new. Get me a blueprint."

"We're working on it." Cal looked at the others. "We need a main assault force."

"Unit 5 goes to the harbor." It was the first time Archer had spoken during the meeting, and all heads turned automatically towards him. He looked at them with the quiet determination that was his chief strength. "We're thinking these people…this 'Nelynda' might have had something to do with Hawkins getting killed." He straightened up, pronouncing sentence. "That place is ours."

"Agreed," Signas acknowledged. "Unit 5 and Steel Wind will cover the harbor."

"Unit 0 will go with them," Zero piped up. "Look," he said to Archer, "you'll have a lot of ground to cover, and we don't know how strong their defenses will be. Never know when you might need the Crazies," he said, referring to his squad's proudly acknowledged nickname.

Archer nodded slowly, and both he and Zero glanced to X, who took the hint. "Unit 17 will lead the attack on Hargrove Tower," he volunteered. "I've got a pretty big infantry at my disposal…we'll secure the grounds and help Damia's people get into the tower itself once they've blown the generators."

"All right," Signas nodded. "Mason, I want your unit with X and Damia. These missions have too many variables involved for us to go in without backup. Help secure the perimeter and move in when you can."

Mason gestured back towards the satellite feed. "Why don't I help Moor get that transport, too? We'll bring his people back with us to help out. They've gotta be itching to get the guys who killed Greaves and his troops."

"Makes sense," X agreed. "Send half your unit to help, but we need the other half keeping watch." He looked to Caligula. "Do we have a specific target?"

The chief nodded, and again the image changed to a profile, this time of a golden male Reploid. "Our hunt for the 'Caliph' mentioned in Daedalus's communications didn't turn up many results, but this is one of them. He's a combat Reploid, but he's reportedly been trained for business and management as well…interesting skills for a warrior, eh?"

"A regional operator for Chartreuse," Mason rephrased it. "He's a big deal, then."

"If this is who we think it is, then yes, he's a huge deal. We don't know what the hell it was that killed Daedalus—"

"It was a bigass bug," Damia cut in. "A big, shiny mantis that froze him and ripped his head off." She frowned. "I'm glad it didn't obey nature and _rape _the bastard next…"

"Oh thanks for _that _image," Signas griped. "Anyway, Mason, you help X and Miss Bugsex over there, and Luna," he said, turning to the purple-haired woman, "I want Unit 20 ready to move in on the harbor in case things turn ugly. We don't know what's in that transport from China and it might be something they can use against us."

Luna nodded. "Gotcha."

"So can I just take the day off, then?" Zegmann asked, rather politely.

"Sorry, Eric. _You_ are getting your people set up in their nastiest machines and guarding the headquarters with a vengeance." Signas narrowed his eyes. "We are _not _repeating the mistakes of the Seraph Uprising. With so many of our units gone, I want the heavy weaponry team making sure no one tries to take advantage of anyone's absence. Clear?"

"Crystal clear." Zegmann smiled. "Can I blast the reporters?"

"Sure. Now, any serious questions?" Those assembled simply straightened to attention, signifying a collective no. "Well then, get your people together."

"I'll get word to Marquez," Caligula said. "Damia, X, I'll have Hargrove blueprints in a few minutes."

"I wish we weren't going in so suddenly," Signas said, feeling like they'd screwed up somewhere along the line. "We shouldn't be going in so blind…"

"But that takes the fun out of it," Damia countered, poking idly at the image of Caliph and wondering just what the man was trying to smuggle out of Roscoe.

"Hey, you of all people should be watching your back over there," Caligula admonished her. "Caliph and company aren't likely to forget that it was you who blew their cover in Denver. They won't be happy to see you."

"Ah," she replied with a smile, "but the point is for them _not _to see me, my good sir. And even if they do I think they'll be too busy running from Mega Man Friggin' X over here to care," she added.

"Yeah," X piped up. "I'm mighty."

"You're also late for something or other," Zero said, gesturing outside where Alia was gesturing frantically, looking quite ridiculous.

"What does she want…" X's eyes suddenly lit up. "Oh, yeah! Ha _ha_! I can cancel Jen Sun now! I'll have to thank Caliph in person for this one!"

"You know you can't dodge her forever," Luna warned as they all moved to the door. "Sooner or later you'll walk into your room and she'll just _be there_, waiting."

"Thanks," X groaned. "Is there any worse thought with which to haunt my nightmares?"

"Sure," Damia answered, her own eyes reflecting the devilish glint in Luna's. "You could be getting decapitated and violated by a giant Reploid mantis."

"Oh, Jesus," Zero shuddered. "Can we change the subject, for crying out loud?"

"Who's getting violated by _what_ now?" asked a very startled Alia.

"X has been keeping certain habits a secret from us," Damia said, grinning evilly and stealing off towards the Intel wing.

"It's…she…oh never mind," X stammered, shooing Alia. "Go cancel Jen Sun, there's a global crisis."

His navigator just frowned in disapproval. "Come on X, you have to do this sometime and making excuses isn't going to make it any easier—"

"No seriously, big crisis, two Serpent bases." He shooed her again. "Go on, go cancel. You know it'll be satisfying."

"Well…well fine, but is it possible for you to maybe show a _little_ emotion about these global crises once in a while?"

"Nope. Now skidaddle, I've got a comeback to make" he replied, rushing after Damia. "_Hey_! Get back here, you little _imp_! This isn't over!"

Alia stared after them and just shook her head. "Once, just _once_, can't things make any sense around here?"

"Well to quote the 'imp', that would take all the fun out of it," Zero replied, clapping her on the shoulder. "Come on. Jen Sun can wait. X'll need you on dispatch tonight."

"All right," she said, shrugging with finality. "So there's really a global crisis, huh?"

"Not quite yet," Zero replied carefully. "Hey, you stopped by the lounge yet…?"

"Yeah," Alia replied, her voice growing heavier. "They're pretty down in the dumps."

Zero smiled. "Well, what Archer has to say will probably brighten their spirits…"

* * *

**Unit 5 Lounge**

"Y'all don't know the _real_ Hawkins," Kyre was saying, smiling wryly. "Y'all only knew the serious, responsible, second-in-command Hawkins."

"Who the hell are you talking about?" Rykov asked, laughing with an ease that softened the tension further in the formerly somber room.

"Pay no attention to him," Kyre waved Rykov off. "See, me, I came into the force with Hawkins. I know the _real _guy, the smartass rookie who couldn't stop getting himself into trouble."

"We're all smartass rookies who keep getting into trouble," Sparks pointed out, before Torque cut him off with "Hey, be quiet and let the man eulogize!"

"Thank you," Kyre nodded formally towards Torque, who saluted back. "Picture, if you will, Douglas and Caligula in all their chiefly glory, unveiling the aerial ride armors we were going to use to match the ones Repliforce was using. _Serious_ atmosphere, so serious…and here's me, Rykov and Archer standing near the back, none of us really caring, and I'm stabbing a bottle of water with one of the techie's geometry compasses."

"_Why?_" Krysta had to ask.

"Hey, you ever heard Douglas give a speech?" Torque asked with a slow smile. "All the technobabble on God's earth and then some. Booooring!"

"Thank you again," Kyre said. "Anyway, we're bored, and I've got wet metal prongs, and I gesture like I'm gonna jam them into this nearby electrical socket. But I stop at the last minute and say, 'Ha, right, I'm not _that _stupid." He paused, interrupted by his own disbelieving laugh, which inspired more of the same from those around him. "So Hawkins, he gets this look in his eyes, and he's like 'Gimme that!' all determined and stuff, and he takes it right out of my hands—"

"Oh, noooo," Seri groaned.

"—And he jams the wet metal in the electric socket and _boom_," he emphasized, waving his arms to indicate flying sparks. "We're talkin' showers of sparklies, people, we're talkin' melted compass prongs. And everyone in the damn garage, Douglas and Caligula included, turns to look at Hawkins, who's just standing there with his hair on end and soot on his face looking guilty as sin, and what are the _first words _to come out of this genius's mouth?" Kyre held up his hands, affecting a look of indignant protest on his face to mimic Hawkins. "'I…I didn't know it would do _that_!'"

"Oh, God," Vulcan said with a grin, as the whole room broke out in appreciative laughter. "And Archer was _fine _with this?"

"I think that's what convinced Archer to give him the promotion," Kyre replied with a smirk. "Don't you feel well managed?"

"Totally," Vulcan laughed, leaning back in his chair and listening to Rykov start up another story about their departed friend. They'd come here after the funeral, drifting naturally into conversation about the Hunter they'd just buried, and as they did so they began to recover from the complicated emotions the funeral scene had evoked in each of them.

Rykov spoke almost as though it were an assigned mission, and he was doing his damned best to complete it to the best of his ability so that Hawkins could be remembered as well as possible. He seemed to have mostly recovered from the grief Vulcan had witnessed at Salem Vale, and was enjoying the recollection of the brighter moments of his friend's life. In this he was similar to Torque and Sparks, and especially Kyre, who many believed would be Archer's choice to replace Hawkins as lieutenant commander. This was fine with them, since as far as Vulcan knew everyone liked and trusted Kyre, and those things tended to be the biggest deals Archer considered when selecting an SIC.

Next to Rykov was Seri, an energetic new recruit that Rykov was rather fond of. She seemed to return the sentiment judging from the occasional flickers in her eyes that Vulcan sometimes saw when she was looking at his friend. Being new, she didn't know Hawkins as well as the others, but showed a genuine interest in getting to know the late lieutenant by way of listening to eulogies.

There were plenty others in the room, but the only other one Vulcan knew well was Krysta, who sat in the chair next to him. She appeared to have lightened up a bit since the funeral, but not as much as the others. Vulcan was conscious of her glancing at him covertly at several occasions, but could not bring himself to look directly at her without feeling ashamed of himself. He'd been inexcusably cold to her at Salem Vale, at a time when she'd been suffering just as much as he was. He felt her eyes sting the side of his head again, and wanted to say something to her but couldn't. He realized that neither of them was really paying attention to what Rykov was saying when the rest of the crowd laughed and they did not. The incident left Krysta feeling embarrassed, and she reverted her attention to Rykov. It made Vulcan feel stifled once more, and he wished that he could leave.

Another thing that detracted from his comfort level was the fact that they were running out of people to tell stories. So far no one had asked Vulcan to contribute, since he'd been there when Hawkins had fallen and was believed to still be troubled by the incident, but that didn't mean they wouldn't ask him to talk before the meeting broke up, and Vulcan really couldn't think of a meaningful tale to offer them at the moment.

Fortunately he was saved when the door to the common room opened and Commander Archer appeared, in full alabaster battle dress.

"Hey," the boss greeted them curtly, glancing around the room. "Are we eulogizing our friend, here?"

"That we are," Kyre answered, noting quickly that it did not appear as if the commander wanted to join in, much to the unit's confusion. "Sir…?"

"Well…we can do this any time. Right now, however…" A cold smile tugged at one corner of Archer's mouth. "How'd you like to help me _avenge _him?"

It was as though he'd pressed a button and activated the battle modes of every person in the room, humans included. "Where?" Rykov was the first to ask.

"We found two Serpent bases," Archer answered, striding from his perch in the doorway into the room itself. "One's in Montana, and we think they were involved in a hit in Colorado the same day Hawkins was killed. The other…" His smile grew both wider and thinner. "The other is a harbor in Niigata."

Seri blinked slowly. "That's right in our backyard."

"Yes," Kyre agreed, understanding. "Yes it is. Are we…?"

"Given the high probability that Serpent bases have connections to Serpent attacks," Archer answered, "yes, I was able to explain to Signas the wisdom of letting Unit 5 go after Inafune Harbor."

"Alone?" Krysta asked, actually apprehensive about the idea.

"No," Archer replied, deflating slightly to the dull plane of practicality. "We don't know exactly what kinds of garbage they might throw at us. Zero's madmen are coming with us…along with…well, that'll be a surprise." He gestured sharply for the door. "Clear out. Get your gear and meet me in the planning room. We've got some time, so I want to get this one right."

Vulcan thought this might be one of those incidents in life where one piece of information was both the best and worst news he'd ever heard. He stood with the others, but moved towards Archer instead of the door, knowing the answer to his question before he asked it but still holding onto a thread of hope. "Sir…"

"No, Vulcan," Archer cut him off, burning the thread decisively. "I'm sorry. You know I'm sorry, but you're not in fighting condition."

"Please," he said, nearly losing his composure. "He was my friend, too."

"There will be other bases, Vulcan," Archer replied unyieldingly, though his eyes couldn't stop apologizing. "Look, you nearly died back there. That gas melted your guts."

"I don't need to be reminded," Vulcan replied icily.

"Apparently you do," Archer retorted. "I lost one good Hunter to Nexnecis and I'm not losing another. I'm sorry," he said again. "But there will be other bases."  
The conversation was over and Vulcan knew it. He nodded once in resignation and Archer took his leave, even as Rykov and Krysta approached. "Hey, man," Rykov said carefully, "he's right, you know? No sense getting killed off."

"I know," Vulcan conceded with a sigh, smiling half-heartedly at his friends. "But it still pisses me off…"

"Don't worry," Krysta said, smiling back. "We'll get one of them for you."

He nodded again, and the two of them started to leave. "Krysta," Vulcan said, stepping forward before he entirely realized what he was doing. "Hey, uh," he said once she turned back to him, faltering over what to say. "Listen…back there…look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anything…"

She smiled, allowing him to stop stammering. "Hey, it's all right…we're all a little weird today, y'know?"

But it wasn't all right, he saw. Her eyes betrayed her and she knew it. When she looked at him her gaze was full of uneasiness, and both were conscious of it and unsure exactly how to react to it. Vulcan knew there was only one other thing that had occurred in the cemetery that might have caused this and opened his mouth to ask her a question that interested him greatly, but she spoke quickly, cutting him short. "I need to go…I'll see you later," she said, trying to insert an apology into her expression but not doing such a stellar job of it.

"Be careful," Vulcan said, smiling weakly and letting her go. Suddenly the only one in the room, he sat back down and exhaled a long breath. Then he slammed his fist hard on the arm of the chair, cursing bitterly. Nothing today had been going entirely right for him. Worst of all was, of course, not being allowed to go on this new mission. Those bastards had attacked _him _too, after all.

So absorbed in his anger was he that Vulcan didn't notice the door open again until a new occupant had sidled in.

"Am I late?" Vulcan's eyes rose to find Kevin Seitz. The human looked quizzically at the Reploid in the chair. "Guess so. Why aren't you with them?"

"I'm broken," Vulcan replied with a curt smile. "And yeah, if you're here for the wake, you're out of luck."

"I see." Seitz nevertheless took a seat across from the Reploid, getting rather comfortable and thus starting to perk Vulcan's attention. "And you? What story did you tell?"

"I…didn't," Vulcan answered slowly, tilting his head at the highly ranked spook. He knew him only in passing, and couldn't ever remember having a dialogue with him. There was only one explanation…the same thing that Krysta for whatever reason didn't want to talk about. "They never got around to me. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondered is all. What story would you have told?"

Vulcan frowned, scrutinizing Seitz's face. It only took a second to realize that the human was interested only in complete honesty…for the moment, anyway. "What story would I have told?" Vulcan repeated the question and straightened up in his seat, his eyes falling to the floor. He was still young enough that he didn't like looking people in the eye when he bared his soul. "Probably how he acted in Megacity 5."

"What do you mean?" Seitz asked, apparently with honest interest.

"He…you know, he was just acting like a leader should act." Vulcan shrugged. "He got us out of that mess with the tank…saved my life. Hell, he saved a lot of lives that day. But," he added, smiling dryly, "that story really wouldn't have fit the mood."

"On the contrary," Seitz replied thoughtfully, "it may have been the perfect finish." Vulcan waited for another question, but Seitz took his time in asking it. Finally he glanced to Vulcan and said, almost conspiratorially, "I know a few things about Hawkins, too. Want to hear some?"

Vulcan drew a slow breath, almost certain where this was going. "Sure."

The human smiled, running a hand through his white-blonde hair as though conjuring up a fond memory. "I know that he was willing to do absolutely anything necessary to protect his friends. Even things Hunters aren't really supposed to do. Friends were a big deal to him."

"I know," Vulcan said, because it seemed like Seitz was waiting for him to say something. "He told me they were all that mattered."

"Did you believe him?" But he continued without waiting for an answer. "Hawkins put himself at great risk to help humans and Reploids alike. He was willing to protect any Hunter, and even Mavericks, if it meant the greater good would be served. In one particular mission…he went beyond the protection of the law—one of the few Hunters crazy enough to do such a thing—and with other brave souls he made the rescues that brought more pride to Intel than we've ever had before. Despite some nasty consequences," Seitz added quietly. "Your lieutenant was a hero in more ways than you know, Vulcan." Suddenly his eyes shot up to meet Vulcan's own. "What about you?" he asked purposefully. "You think you've got the guts to do crazy shit like that?"

Again Vulcan drew a slow breath. He knew Seitz was testing him, even though he wasn't sure what the exact criteria of the test was. He only knew he didn't want to fail. Honesty had worked well so far, so he figured he'd stick with what worked. "I don't know."

Seitz frowned. "You don't know?"

"Well, you're asking me pretty general questions. No, I can't honestly tell you I've got the guts to do something when I don't know what that something is." Vulcan shrugged, conversationally rather than dismissively. "But from what you just said…I mean, I'm not really as shocked as I probably should be," he admitted. "I guess…I guess I always figured certain stuff went on that we don't know about."

"And you accept that?"

Another shrug. "If it keeps my friends alive, then I can probably accept it."

Seitz crossed his arms behind his head, examining Vulcan carefully. "The bitch of it is, if I gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, I'd be responsible for a lot of dead agents. You understand, right?"

"Yeah. You want to make sure I'm not just a kid out to prove himself."

"Are you?"

Another deep breath. He was never quite prepared for Seitz's manner of direct questioning. "I don't think so. Proving yourself is painful." He smiled without humor. "Lots of people still think I killed Sigma two years ago in that quarry…but I didn't take the shot. I've never pretended otherwise. Does that sound like someone out to prove himself?"

But Seitz was stubborn. "Modesty sometimes gives way to inadequacy."

"Well," Vulcan replied quickly, to stop himself from getting angry at the comment, "I did go chase a train with elites one night. They liked me for it, especially after I served as a decoy for X and got cut nearly to pieces by one of the Seraph Bosses as a result."

Seitz did smile lightly at this. "All right, so you're mature for your age. But you lost to a skilled Maverick. Do you have what it takes physically?"

"Not at the moment. My insides are still solidifying after that fun run a few days ago. But I…" His mind drifted to an ethereal version of the crater where he'd fought Tetra, the name 'Ares' dancing across his central processor. "I've dealt with my share of tough enemies."

"Have you." Seitz stood suddenly. "Let's take a walk."

Vulcan blinked, coming slowly to his feet. "Where are we going…?"

"Ever been upstairs before?" The spook grinned at Vulcan's reaction. "I promise you it's far more boring than you'd imagine. Just don't touch anything. Caligula shoots sticky-fingered visitors."

It was telling of the situation that Vulcan wasn't sure if Seitz was serious or not. "Well then…uh…lead the way."

* * *

**Sakimoto**** Airfield**

Raven 13 emitted a rumbling purr as its systems and engines came to low power, signifying the completion of preflight procedures. Every reading was in the green, and all the weapons were loaded. A big mechaniloid backed slowly away from the jet, its telltale warning beeps sending airport technicians scattering as the refueling droid moved on to the next aircraft.

Alec smiled instinctively as he felt his baby come to life. The mild vibrations of the activated aircraft traveled up his spine and allowed him to experience the mild thrill he felt every time flight was imminent. He didn't get to go up in the air as often anymore thanks to his command rank, and this increased his anticipation of aerial combat.

Satisfied that his transport was battle-ready, Alec put the system on standby and left the cockpit. He flashed a thumbs up to Bale, who was about to jump into Raven 5, and returned to the garage. Ravenna waited for him in his 'office', which was more of a general planning room. Smiling as easily as he knew how, the pilot approached his significant other and took a seat next to her. "Everything's in the green," he said. He hoped he sounded casual, because he knew she wasn't exactly at ease.

Ravenna smiled a little, brushing her dark hair from her face. "An easy mission?" she asked. Her voice was not timid, but her eyes were. This was the first time during their relationship that Alec was flying into combat. Since she rather liked him, she was a bit apprehensive about the whole thing.

Alec knew it. "Sure, nothin' to it. We fly in, blow the bitches to hell and fly circles 'round the joint 'till the boys on the ground take care of the hard part." The corners of his mouth turned upwards in one of the quiet but cocky gestures he knew she liked, the kind of smile she wore when she came up with a training program that she knew would foil even the cleverest of the clients using it. "Really, babe, my job is a piece of cake. Don't worry about me."

"_You_?" she asked with a grin. "It's that expensive aircraft out there that concerns me. I spent a lotta time on your nav systems, so you better not break anything up there." It was true. She'd made sure Alec would see most anything that was heading his way.

"No worries," he said, draping an arm around her and squeezing her shoulder. Then he changed the subject before either of them could sink back into anxiety. "Sorry about the long day…I'd planned for a bit more free time."

"It's not your fault," she said, somewhat distantly. Then her dark green eyes flickered up towards his face. "Thanks for taking me along this morning."

"Ah…yeah, sure," Alec replied, calling to mind the funeral. "I thought you'd be more uncomfortable."

"I've met Hawkins before," Ravenna protested. "And they said the funeral was open to all his friends…though I guess I still don't know if I should have been there."

"Are you glad you were?"

She nodded, and then appeared uncomfortable. "I…uh, don't know how to say it correctly, but…I dunno, I guess I just never gave the Reploids much thought until now. I mean, I always thought of them as sentients, just like mechanical versions of us…but without certain quirks humans have, since they are, in fact, machines."

Alec nodded slowly. "I understand what you mean. Most humans are the same way…we don't think of the Reploids as entirely as advanced as us, at least mentally. But when you live and work around them, you learn not to differentiate, and to just think of them as one of the guys…or one of the gals," he quickly added.

"So then," she pressed, "you now think of them as being like us mentally?"

"More or less," he responded, already feeling out of his league. Philosophy was not his thing. "I've seen young Reploids come of age with the same angst and uncertainty as a human adolescent…hell, you can almost watch their brains putting together a code to live by. It's just like with us. And I've seen Reploids fall in love too, love as pure or purer than humans are capable of."

She tilted her head a bit. "Yeah…I was a bit surprised to see how much they responded to Hawkins's passing. All the mental processes we go through, they go through…love, grief, a desire to change the impossible…" She shivered, awed by the complexities of the programming. "God, Light was a genius…" She roused herself from her admirations for the late roboticist and turned her attention back to Alec. "You think they fear death like humans do?"

He blinked. "Well, I'd assume so…"

"Even though they can be resurrected, is what I'm asking."

"Uhh…well, it's not as simple as that," he said, fumbling for an explanation. "I mean…it ain't like you just get up after a long nap. Sometimes the control chip is damaged, so they can't be resurrected. Or sometimes they come back without some or all of their old memories. That can be even scarier than death. Plus," he added, seizing on an earlier statement that he hoped would end the conversation quickly before he ran out of smart things to say, "like you said, they're sentients. That means they comprehend death as an ending, and frankly, who isn't afraid of not existing anymore?"

"Mm." She smiled, sensing his discomfort. "Very insightful, Professor Tremont. You should give up flying and write theses."

"God, no," he said forcefully, recalling his college days. "I think my thesis had something to do with birds. You know, evolution of animal flight and all that. Turned into one big god damned biology study."

"Ah, but did you _learn_ anything, my scholar?"

"Well, I can't explain those weird shits on the beach, the _hoo-aka_ mutants, if that tells you anything."

Ravenna laughed. "Then maybe you should stick to flying after all."

"Yeah," he agreed, even as his communicator began to signal a go-mission. "Damn," he said absently. This meant _New Liberty_ had detected the Chinese transport moving into the Niigata harbor. And that meant it was time to rock and roll.

"Go on," Ravenna said with a sigh, understanding what was happening. She leaned towards him and kissed him tenderly, but briefly. She'd learned that for whatever reason her kiss was about the only thing that destroyed his well-presented but insincere machismo and softened him up, but she didn't want him feeling warm and caring at the moment. He needed to be a fighter. The kiss was more of a reassuring promise, and for his part Alec felt the promise hook him like an anchor, and briefly he felt a curious happiness resonate within himself. _Is this love, _he asked himself as he did every time this happened, but he quickly put it out of mind. He had no time for love now. Now was a time for war.

He was nearly out the door before her voice stopped him. He turned back with a raised eyebrow. She was trying to say what she'd been thinking during their entire conversation. "You said you don't differentiate between humans and Reploids…so…" she asked, irate with herself for stammering when she knew he had work to be doing. "So how…how do you handle killing them? Is it hard?"

Of course it is, he almost said, but somehow he could not say it. The realization left him stiff as a statue, and about as cold inside. _Was _it hard to kill his enemies? Had he ever really thought of it before? No, he realized, they'd been more like targets on a grid to him, people who wanted to kill him and thusly had to be killed first. Even now he didn't exactly feel guilty about it, since as far as he'd known he'd never attacked anyone who didn't deserve it, but he'd always imagined that somewhere deep down he had a moral problem with his deeds.

"Killing is never easy," he replied, but the answer satisfied neither of them and both knew it.

Fortunately Ravenna didn't press the issue any further. "Never mind…go be a hero. I'll be here when you get back."

"You don't have to wait up…"

"Yes I do." She strode over to him, walking with him out of the garage. "Be seeing you," she said, kissing him again and stepping aside so he could board Raven 13.

Alec as usual could find no words that he didn't feel would profane the moment, so he smiled sincerely at her, a gesture he found rather easy to pull off, and vanished into the cockpit of his beloved jet. "Steel Wind, are we ready to rock?" he asked once the radios were active.

"All ready up front boss," Bale's voice came back over the frequency. "You know, you could always stay behind if you two'd rather spend the night snuggling or somethin'."

Alec's face adopted the grin it wore whenever he was challenged. "Blow it out your heating vent, Bale! Maybe you wouldn't be so cranky if you weren't denied so often…"

"O-ho!" his friend laughed in reply. "Is _that_ so? Well you know what this boils down to."

Alec did. It always amazed the other members of Steel Wind, and the Hunters in general, that during moments of heavy combat and crisis Alec and Bale somehow found enough free time to show off with loop-de-loops and other aero-acrobatics in some kind of private competition while wars were going on in the background. "You're on," he accepted, almost certain he could feel the blood racing faster through his veins. Flight was what he lived for. He was ready. "Bring it on, Serpent, you scaly-assed bastard," he murmured, even as he heard the signal from the dispatch tower.

"Raven 13, you're cleared for takeoff."

* * *

**Hargrove**** Tower**

The night was cold. Kitsch had held out on hope that as morning drew ever nearer some hint of the future sunlight would heat things up, but it was to no avail. The lizard drew himself up to full height and stretched mightily, watching as the Vector gunship approached from the skies to touch down at the loading zone at the center of the facility grounds. It made more sense, in Kitsch's opinion, for the loading zone to be closer to the buildings, but Caliph didn't seem willing to deviate from this Mr. White fellow's explicit instructions. Probably this was due to the wannabe ringwraith following the boss around, Kitsch surmised. Neither he nor Caliph could be called cowardly, but this Blade guy made absolutely everyone nervous.

"Is the cargo prepared?" Kitsch asked loudly to his human counterpart over the din of the descending chopper.

"The boss is bringing it out now," Yergin shouted back. "Any idea what it is?"

"Somethin' important," Kitsch replied dismissively. "Who cares? Let's just get this done and get out of here."

Yergin shrugged and stepped away to answer a com call. Things were normal, Caliph reported. Everything was on schedule. Yergin breathed a sigh of relief. With luck, it would all be over soon.

* * *

Far behind them, deep within the clustered garages and mini-factories, two groups of Reploids moved stealthily towards their separate targets, all six figures hidden by mobile cloaking shields. The decision to sneak onto Hargrove grounds while the Vector was landing had its obvious benefits, as the bulk of the security personnel would be keeping track of the gunship, but Damia was still worried about increased security on the base borders. So far infiltration hadn't been a problem, however, and with Castle and Acrystos she headed for the generator on the east end of the grounds. Dantz reported that he, Nexus and Deluge had arrived at the western generator without incident and shortly afterward Unit 8's second half arrived at its own destination.

"There," Castle whispered, gesturing towards the heating duct the base blueprint had revealed. "Looks small," he added.

"Smaller than we thought," Damia agreed quietly while Acrystos scanned for any enemy sentries. The commander knelt down in front of the vent, removing a cutting laser from her utility belt and setting down the powerful pistol she'd brought with her as her primary weapon. It took her two minutes to make a hole in the back of the smallish building housing the generator, during which time her accomplices stole away on separate scouting missions.

"We've got a few patrols wandering around," Acrystos whispered upon return. "But they all seem kind of bored, and half of them aren't even openly armed. So long as we stay quiet, we're cool."

Castle returned seconds later. "The two escape exits are located on the top floor, and both doors have security systems. We can knock 'em out with minor EMP pulses, but they have to be simultaneous." He looked down at the open vent shaft. "Going in?"

"Can either of you fit?" Damia asked, knowing the answer already. "Fine…don't screw up with the EMP then. I'll meet up with you near the generator."

Her comrades nodded and vanished, so to speak, since they were already cloaked. Damia drew a long breath and eyed the vent shaft untrustingly. She didn't know what to expect on the other side, and that bothered her, especially since it had been a while since she'd been in the field and—she'd admit it—she was a little nervous.

But deep down she was glad to be back in her element and she knew it. She waited to make sure there really was no one watching and recalled her armor, which would have produced a significant infrared flash if someone had been monitoring the area. Then quickly she holstered her pistol and squeezed herself into the vent, wriggling like a worm through the tight confines while trying to ignore the oppressive heat. At first she banged around a bit against the steel walls and this unnerved her, but she quickly remembered the proper way to do this and in time was slithering silently towards her objective, just as she'd done countless times in the past.

She heard no noise above her, and her scanners showed no signs of life. There would probably be cameras, but she'd have to count on her cloaking shield for that. A few seconds later she received a confirmation signal from Castle and Acrystos—they had overcome the security and were moving downstairs towards her. She could now hear the hum of the generator and felt as though she were about to melt—any further and she risked coming up under the generator itself. Scanning once more for life and receiving a negative response she rolled over onto her back and retrieved her cutting laser once more. She held her breath the full time she created her exit, exhaling hugely in relief once the task was complete. According to the blueprint she should be in a relatively shaded portion of the room near the generator, and the cameras should have trouble seeing something happening here. She gently lifted the shaft's ceiling up only enough to clear the floor and slid it slowly away, and then the dim light of the generator shed spilled down onto her perspiring face.

The path through the vents was the most direct path. It would take Castle and Acrystos at least ten minutes to quietly make it down to her position, and the mission needed to be accomplished with haste, hence Damia's solo action. Just before she began to rise out of the vent she got a communication from Dantz that said his mines had been set on the western generator. Their greater speed was doubtlessly due to Nexus's teleportation skills, Damia thought. If only she had that luxury. But she'd made it this far without incident, and now all she had to do was set the mines she carried on her belt and leave.

Finally, after checking to make sure her cloaking was still active, Damia lifted herself up into the eastern generator shed in the Hargrove Tower base, ready for anything other than what turned out to be waiting for her.

* * *

Caliph couldn't help but be interested in the heavy black box he carried. Only he was allowed to touch it, and even then only when the _Conseil__ des Cindres_ gave him permission. Despite this privilege, Caliph wasn't exactly sure what was in this most guarded box. He'd only seen the contents once, and that wasn't supposed to have happened, or so he'd gathered from the look in Helm's eyes when he noticed Caliph watching. It was, if memory served, a simple crystal sphere containing what looked like a living, sprawling black fog. And yet it had seemed more than a fog…it had substance to it, almost like something Caliph would see come out of an arm cannon. So he had to assume it was an energy source of some kind, but why Kou Cao would want it hidden in Roscoe was beyond the Hargrove chief.

Behind him, Blade flowed like a never ending shadow, the only fixed points being his blazing eyes. He had said nothing to Caliph since their initial conversation, nor had Caliph said anything back, but now on this solitary journey to the ground level Caliph felt the need to clear a few things up. "Tell me," he said without looking back or wholly expecting an answer, "why would the Serpent place something as important as this in my base only to let it sit around until it needs to be moved someplace else? What's the point?"

Blade's eyes shifted towards Caliph's position, but no communication issued forth from the wraith. The silence made Caliph feel as though he'd just spoken to a wall, and he dismissed the cloaked figure with a sigh of annoyance. But then the dark Reploid spoke, or 'spoke' in his manner anyway, startling Caliph and prompting him to stop and turn around. _"It is…as those who build stationary towers for radio across the land…to enhance the range of their broadcast."_ Blade gave the impression that he was about to say more, but no more icy words invaded Caliph's brain. But the chief thought he got the message, and decided it was better not to ask what Chartreuse was broadcasting.

Blade floated forward and Caliph followed suit, resuming his trip to the elevator, where they both stood at opposite ends as the doors closed and the descent began. "Everything's normal, Yergin," Caliph said, patching in to his field contact. "Everything's on schedule."

But as the elevator approached the ground floor, Blade seemed to stiffen, solidifying enough that Caliph thought he saw the image of arms beneath the cloak of flowing darkness. His balefire eyes dimmed slightly, and from him an icy aura chilled the air, sending a cold shudder down Caliph's spine. "You," he hissed, "what are you doing…?"

_"I sense…"_ Blade emanated thinly, lost in some wide-range scan. _"That aura…I sense…them!"_

"What?" Caliph asked, as though someone had flipped a magic switch to 'danger'. "What's going on, dammit?"

_"They have come," _Blade said significantly, and that was all he would say. Then a harsh but mirthful laugh escaped his soul, reverberating through the close elevator confines like a sonar wave off the ocean floor.

Caliph felt his resolve slipping to madness at the very proximity of the frightening Reploid, but before he could ask another question the doors opened. Caliph rushed outside, turning back to look at the creature behind him, but there was nothing there. Not even the trace of a shadow remained. Blade was gone. Completely, utterly and simply _gone_, like he'd never been there to begin with.

"Boss!" a guard called from down the hall. "Boss, what's goin' on?"

Caliph spun towards him, breaking into a run towards the exit. This was too much. "Sound the alarm," he shouted, turning on his communicator to send the same message to Kitsch. "Sound the alarm. The Hunters are here!"

* * *

X collected reports from his lieutenants one by one and, secure that his perimeter was secure, he turned on his communicator and patched into Alia. "What's the situation down south?"

"Mason reports that he and Moor have closed in on the transport. The takedown is likely occurring right now," the dispatcher responded. "Also, we're about to go into the harbor."

"Damn…I was hoping the missions wouldn't be simultaneous." He sighed, glancing around at the four Reploids that made up his little squad. Each of his lieutenants had about this number at their disposal as well. "Keep me posted, Alia." He broke contact just as someone tried to get through to him. "Yeah, Dantz?"

"It's done," the guerilla's deep voice responded. "We're fanning out now. Damia should be done any moment. Give the order and we'll blow these things sky high. That'll attract their attention."

"Then we'll ground the chopper and move in," X finished. "I just hope Damia pulls this off before they load that thing…we can't let it get away."

"She'll have it done, sir." Even the implication that one of his people would screw up irked Dantz, X observed.

"X," Jasper broke in, on another frequency. "Hey, something's happening to the south."

X looked, and swore. Indeed, the personnel seemed to be moving towards the chopper, and the looks on their faces suggested that they were worried about something. "Oh shit, don't tell me…"

Two seconds later his fears were realized when the wail of an active alarm system began to resonate among the clustered mountains.

"They see us!" Shadin cut in, from the south. "X, we gotta scramble!"

"Dammit! How did they know?" X growled. "Dantz! Go help Damia and the others. Don't blow the generators just yet!"

"Roger," Dantz replied, though he'd come to the same conclusions on his own.

Someone came running out of the tower's main doors. It was a golden Reploid carrying a black case. Caliph. He was flanked on both sides, and his guards were heavily armed. The Vector pilot was already taking off, and Caliph had to lob the case hard to get it inside the cargo hold.

X was already on the move. "Unit 17, same plan, execute now!" he ordered before closing his com lines. His arm converted to a blaster and he activated the emergency acceleration system in his boots, jetting across the landscape down from his perch towards the center of the complex, where guards were already beginning to cluster and open fire. X's four comrades rushed after him, opening covering fire on their targets. The Hunters were trained well, striking their enemies with stun blasts while X accumulated power in his cannon. The gunship had gained sufficient altitude already—Vectors were startlingly fast—and was already twisting around to make an escape. Ignoring the multitude of shots flying his way, X leveled his cannon at the fleeing ship and sent a thick bolt of plasma screaming up through the sky into the tail rotor. The copter instantly began its fatal spiral, slamming into the mountains only a little ways away from where X had been encamped. The fall wasn't that great, and the pilot was healthy enough to crawl out of the ruined gunship and try to make his escape, but two of X's four accomplices were rushing back already to apprehend him and the cargo. But Unit 17 was closing in from all sides now, battling their way to the central area to join their leader.

Caliph took one look at the scene unfolding before him and realized he was outgunned. He turned and sprinted back with his guards towards the gates of Hargrove Tower. X immediately gave pursuit, switching his cannon to stun and opening fire at the fleeing criminals. But he was too late to catch them before the doors slammed shut, and an additional adaman barrier slid down over the doors to prevent a forced entry.

"Damn it!" X spun around to see what was happening around him, and was rewarded with the sight of several energy projectiles heading his way. Breaking into a tumble he threw himself to the ground and rolled away from the shots, but nevertheless felt a sting in his left leg. "You'll pay for that," he growled, jumping to his feet and sending a blast at one of his attackers, a human. Perhaps it was the mere sight of the human champion X shooting at him that did it, perhaps something else, but the human just stood there dumbly and let himself get stunned. X proceeded to stun the two Reploids fighting beside him, unable to hide a smile of appreciation toward this new kind of combat, the kind where he wasn't supposed to actually kill anybody. They needed these people for information, after all, and they couldn't get that if they were dead.

"Commander!" Jasper was yelling, rushing towards his comrade. "There's something going on at the garages," he said, gesturing.

X looked, and immediately his stomach sank. Things were emerging from the garages…large, nasty-looking security mechaniloids. X knew them from conversations with Douglas. They were known as 'Desdemona' units, and they were about as dangerous as a mechaniloid could get. Above them, Hargrove Tower's defense networks came to life on the building itself. Security personnel were assembling en masse near the Desdemona units.

"Everyone," X said, patching through to all his troops, "gather 'round. This is gonna be harder than we thought."

* * *

The first thing Damia did was call back her armor. Like all the guerillas she had several protective suits, and this one was a darker shade of blue than usual to better blend with the night.

Still cloaked, she ducked to a corner before actually taking time to examine the room. It was a big chamber, and the generator hummed menacingly at the center. There were two cameras, one on one end of the room and one directly across, just as the blueprint had suggested. She was just beginning to devise a way to deactivate them when the alarms began to wail.

Instinctively wondering if she was responsible for the alert, Damia quickly decided that no, if it had been her then the alarm would have gone off as she'd been cutting, or as she'd emerged, not while she was standing cloaked and motionless in the shadows. But then, what was happening outside? "X," she said into her communicator, "X, do you read? What's going—"

Something struck her hard from behind, sending her flying forward with a startled cry. Damia landed badly, slamming into the floor with enough force to drive all the air from her synthetic lungs. She groaned, desperately trying to muster enough energy to pull herself to her feet, but even as she did so she heard her cloaking shield crackle and die. It must have been damaged by the fall, she realized dismally. Adding further to the confusion of the moment was that even though she'd had her back pressed against the wall she'd been struck from _behind_.

She spun around to face her attacker…but no one was there. No one at all. What was going on?

Then there came a cold laugh that echoed throughout the room, all but freezing Damia's blood. The Huntress drew her pistol, ready to unleash an adaman bullet into anything that moved. She looked all around her, but could find nothing to shoot at. "Let's go," she challenged. "Where are you hiding?"

_"Turn around,"_ said a voice—if it could be called a voice—directly behind her. Damia felt the cold breath on the back of her neck. She could feel what could only be described as the essence of spiders running up her arms. Springing like a mousetrap she spun around and opened fire at point blank…only it wasn't point blank, because no one was there.

Sufficiently intimidated, Damia turned to look for an escape route, but again she was struck in the back, and spilled violently to the floor. She raised her gun in defense but it was smacked out of her grip by a powerful hand, and this time Damia got a look at her dark, haunting opponent. "What in the hell…?" she breathed, her eyes widening.

_"Hello, Damia," _the cloaked, demonic figure said, his voice and his very essence materializing in her mind. _"It has been a…rather long time. I missed you…up in Moscow."_

"Get…get out of my head!" she ordered, scrambling to her feet and backing away. "Who the hell are you?"

But she knew. She knew it even as he moved forward and she looked into the balefires glowing amidst the darkness…even before he drew back the cloak of flowing shadows to reveal a solid Reploid frame of ebon metal lined with sharp, gleaming blades. His cowl remained, but Damia didn't need to see his face to recognize her old friend.

"Oh, my God…Revenant!"

A light of mirth danced in the fires of the wraith's eyes. _"One…and the same."_He stepped forward slowly, methodically. Behind him his cloak billowed out like a cape, expanding to shade the whole room in darkness. Damia couldn't help but gasp at the sight. _"Tonight is a beautiful night, my small one,"_ Damia heard as the revered former Hunter moved closer and closer to her, his conflagrating optics fixed almost affectionately on her cornered frame. The Huntress found she could do nothing but watch as he approached, as the darkness behind him encroached forward upon her and made her blood run cold, as invisible spiders crawled over every part of her body and made her tremble. Revenant smiled with teeth bright enough that Damia could see them from within the shadows of the hood, and reaching out for her with a bone-white metal hand he completed his thought.

_"Tonight…the end begins."_


End file.
